Resolution
by lunarmoth131
Summary: A religious-based murder leaves Ziva troubled; Gibbs and Abby complete their family. Casefic, Tiva, Gabby -- a collaboration with my daughter which is set a few months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry."
1. Chapter 1

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

_It was the same as every morning when Lisa opened her eyes. It felt as if a hundred people suddenly grabbed her and pulled her in a hundred different directions until she thought she might scream. Of course no observer would possibly have been able to tell. Lisa was stoic to the last. _

_It was dark outside and still cold as she headed out for a run. It had taken some time to get used to the change in climate, but she had been there almost 3 years. 'Getting used to' was the wrong phrase, however; Lisa didn't get used to anything; she adjusted. She didn't know it consciously, but it was part of her stubborn refusal to be happy, flaunting her control over this one part of her life that no one else could touch. Typical woman, really._

"Yo, McGeek!" McGee almost fell off his chair in surprise when Tony came in and interrupted what could be the beginning of a chapter in his head. He walked over with a confident stride, serious expression, even a Starbucks cup that McGee doubted contained actual coffee. With the boss gone, even for a few days, Tony wore the Gibbs persona like a suit of Kevlar. "We gotta go. Dead Marine, heavy political situation that we're going to leave to the director while we find the bad guy."

"And you ride in like a knight in pompous idiocy," Ziva said, not taking her eyes off her computer. Tony smiled but his eyes flashed.

"It's 'shining armor', Ziv-ah" he replied, adding the extra inflection to the 'ah' at the end of her name.

"Not all my mistakes are made from ignorance, Tony," she said. "Our victim's name is Martín Guererra, emigrated from Venezuela, was nationalized right before he joined the Marines two years ago. He was found at Boyd Park in Hampton, Virginia." She looked at McGee, eyebrows raised. "Is there something wrong, McGee?" McGee realized with some embarrassment that he had been staring at Ziva the whole time he had been daydreaming about his novel.

"No, sorry," he stammered. "Just—spaced out." Ziva looked at him questioningly.

"When people's brains shut down and they can't think so they just stare at whatever their eyes fall on, and yes, Ziva, I do in fact live in a permanent state of 'spaced out'. To save you the trouble of insulting me." He took a sip of pretend coffee and Ziva grabbed the keys.

"I'm driving," she snapped. "and shall I add 'may God have mercy on our souls', to spare _you _the trouble, Tony?" She grabbed her gear and walked off, looking injured. Tony looked at McGee, who was still getting things together.

"Do me a favor, Probie and finish your daydream before you head down. We'll be waiting for you," he said.

As soon as he and Ziva were in the elevator, he reached for the hold button. Ziva was glaring at him from the opposite wall.

"If you so much as move to slap me on the head, I'm making you an experimental torture case," she said.

"I'm not Gibbs," Tony said, in a low controlled voice, still staring at the door. "I never will be. No one can be Gibbs but Gibbs and I am under a lot of stress right now, what with people expecting me to be him. I could really use your support right now, you know, as a friend."

"Part of being a leader is forgetting what everyone else thinks of you, Tony."

"Listen," Tony said, moving closer to her. "I know you're probably angry at me because of our relationship, but—"

"We don't have a relationship, Tony. It's just convenient sex. And yes, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I don't think it should happen again."

"Why? I was enjoying it; I thought you were."

"I was," Ziva admitted. "But given that we work together—"

"Oh, don't even start with that, Ziva. That's not really why you want it to end. It's getting complicated for you; I can see it. You can't deal with that. What, were you born without an emotional center or something?"

"Shut up, Tony. And don't come to my apartment again." She turned the elevator back on and didn't look at Tony the rest of the way down.

_Although Lisa loved the thrill of a new case and enjoyed being close to Tommy, nothing could quite ease the pain that Lisa felt in her heart; so much loss in her life, the consequences of living in such a war-torn part of the world. For her pain was that she could not love, for fear of losing it again. And so any feelings that she might have were quickly disposed of, uprooted prematurely like a sapling thrown in a woodchipper._

McGee looked back down at his gear and shook his head. "Terrible metaphor," he said to himself, and headed downstairs.

************************************

"Gibbs!" Agent Gibbs was in his kitchen, discreetly pouring a cup of coffee for himself since he had believed Abby to be still sleeping. But her cry sounded upset, almost like it came through tears. He quickly put down his coffee and ran to his bedroom. Abby was sitting in her coffin, noisily sobbing with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms around Bert the hippo.

"Abby, honey, what's wrong?" he asked softly. "Are you ok? Something wrong with the baby?"

"The baby—," Abby wailed. "The baby—he's moving, Gibbs. He's really moving. I can feel it. It's amazing." All this through a torrent of the worst Abby-tears he had seen yet.

Gibbs had several immediate reactions to this. First of all, he had told Abby a hundred times to call him Jethro—'Gibbs' was too formal for the woman who was carrying his child. But Abby's habits were hard to break—hence Bert and the coffin—and Gibbs wanted to take stress off her, not add to it. Also, Abby's emotions were like wading in quicksand; nothing was solid for more than a few seconds. Abby alternately loved him and hated him and her expressions of both were more than extreme. Gibbs had gone through six coffeemakers, since when Abby hated him, she tended to assault them with a baseball bat.

On the other hand, the depth of loving emotion that she sometimes felt for him led her to burst into the interrogation room and passionately kiss him until whoever was watching through the glass could drag her out. (She was now closely watched anytime there was a sensitive situation going on) To distract her, Gibbs no longer brought her CafPows, but bananas. She had been craving bananas since week 13. Needless to say, this provoked a number of comments from Tony about the primate qualities that the child seemed likely to have. Though these and other changes were trying and at times bewildering, Gibbs could honestly say that he was enjoying having a family again. Still, he often had to suppress an apprehension bordering on terror about his child's safety.

"Abby, are you in pain? Does it hurt when he moves? Are you bleeding?"

"No-o-o," Abby managed to say. "It's just that—he's moving and it's—it's so beautiful that I can't stop crying!" She hugged Bert tightly for a fresh burst of sobs and to Gibbs the fart sound that he made sounded somewhat puzzled.

"You're sure that you're ok, Abs?"

"Yes, _Jethro_, I feel fine."

"Besides the inconsolable tears, you mean?" Abby sniffled and blew her nose.

"This pregnancy is turning me into a nutcase," she said. "I've never been so happy in my life and all I can do is sit here and cry." Gibbs leaned close to her and wrapped his arms around her. Abby clung to him and Bert farted in his ear. Gibbs placed a hand on her slightly protruding belly.

"It's going to be alright, Abs," he said. "I know it's hard now, but believe me, this baby is going to be worth all that and more."

"Oh, Jethro," Abby said, and for a second Gibbs thought she was going to cry again. But she was silent for a few more minutes while Gibbs held her.

"Jethro?"

"Yes, Abby."

"You know I love you."

"I know, Abby."

"Jethro?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you make me banana pancakes?"

******************************

On the wooded borders of Boyd Park, thankfully away from where the children played, the body had been found. A father familiar with the scent of decomposing flesh had gone over to investigate and had hurried all the families away before calling the police, who called NCIS when it was discovered that the victim was a Marine.

"Time of death between 48 and 72 hours ago," Ducky told Tony, removing the liver probe without ceremony from the belly of a Hispanic man who stared up at them with half-lidded black eyes. "Mr. Palmer, come over here and tell me what you can deduce from this." Palmer stopped struggling with the body bag and gurney and ran over to look at the body. "Strangulation," he said immediately. From ear to ear there was a deep ligature mark lined with dried blood. "His throat may have been cut, but there isn't enough blood to point to exsanguination."

"Very good, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said. "You might just make a medical examiner yet. Anything else?" Sweating a little, Palmer stared hard at the grisly scene.

"He wasn't moved," he said. "The pattern of blood in the grass corresponds with how it flows from his neck."

"Excellent," Ducky said. To Tony he added, "I agree that the preliminary cause of death was strangulation. Of course I'll find out more later, but barring any unusual events—which as we both know are so common in this business that they might be called 'usual event's—I think it's unlikely that the cause of death will change."

"Thanks, Ducky," Tony replied. "Hey, Ziva! McGee! Strangled! Look for a possible weapon!"

"Like that was not obvious to all of us," Ziva muttered, and stalked off into the woods.

McGee continued to take pictures of the scene. He wasn't finding much to go on; just some footprints and tracks in the grass and the occasional bit of colored plastic from a child's toy. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept straying, sometimes to his novel and the development of Lisa's character in addition to the tension of her relationship with Tommy, and sometimes to Abby. That she was pregnant was a shock beyond anything he had ever thought to expect with Abby, and that Gibbs was the father was leaving him wondering if he hadn't wandered into a parallel universe.

Added to that, Abby looked even more beautiful to him now. Probably just because I can't have her, he thought to himself. He had actually been trying to stay away from her as much as possible, as had everyone if they knew what was good for them, and let Gibbs do most of the communicating. Still, a part of him wondered; if he wasn't 'right' for her, as she had put it, how in the world did _Gibbs_ of all people land the job? His conflicts found a release, as they always did, in his writing and currently Agent 'L.' was lost out at sea after the bombing of an aircraft carrier. There were days when he wasn't sure if he wanted him to come back.

He put his foot down on the sidewalk and heard a crunching sound. Lifting it up again, he saw something shimmer in the afternoon light. He bent closer. On the pavement, crushed by his shoe, were bits of red plastic or possibly glass, carved into a rounded shape, with a bit of a gold chain still attached. It was a bead.

A thought occurred to him. He knelt close to the grass beside the concrete, searching for more of these. Sure enough, he saw another.

"Tony! Ziva!" he called. Tony was talking to witnesses, but Ziva came over while he snapped pictures of both the beads.

"Find something, McGee?" she asked.

"See that?" McGee asked, gesturing to the bead. "I found another on the sidewalk. See if you can find anymore." Ziva put on a glove, picked up the intact bead and placed it in an evidence bag. After searching for a few minutes, they found four more, along with more bits of the chain.

"Think this was the murder weapon?" McGee asked.

"Possible," Ziva said. "I doubt we'll be able to get fingerprints off of this. However…" she held the bead she had just found up to the light. Small flecks of brownish-red were on its surface. "Abby will be able to tell us if this is the victim's blood or not." Something in McGee's stomach jumped at the mention of Abby's name. "Keep looking for more."

Tony's phone rang while he was interviewing the man who found the body. After excusing himself, he walked to a quieter area to have the conversation.

"Is Gibbs there?" was the first thing out of the caller's mouth. Understandably, given the current situation with Gibbs and Abby, the director was just slightly more on edge.

"No; my understanding was that he was on vacation for a few days. I guess we should just be counting ourselves lucky that he's still in the country."

"Agent DiNozzo," Shepard said curtly. "I have been fielding calls from the Venezuelan embassy all morning. In case you weren't aware, your victim was the son of one of their outstanding citizens, one with major connections here in the States."

"I am aware, Director, and I am also aware that Guererra and his sister came here four years ago after being disowned by their family and more or less ordered out of the country for religious differences; now he wants to reconcile? That's a little odd, don't you think? Is he trying to contact the sister?"

"He's already tried and she refuses to see him, which is where we come in."

"We're playing referee in a family squabble?"

"No, Tony; Mr. Guererra already has a good idea who it was that murdered his son; now he wants us to protect his daughter, since she won't let him."

"Political extremists?"

"Guererra's been receiving threats for years. He's quite upset that they managed to find his children before he did. I've already sent agents to their house, but I want to assign Ziva there for the remainder of the case."

"If you take one of my team, Director, you're extending that period of time quite a bit, especially with Gibbs gone."

"Yes, but this is complicated, DiNozzo. Guererra doesn't want any male agents near his daughter and since Ziva speaks Spanish, I thought she'd be the best choice."

"Fair enough. If Guererra's right about this, it shouldn't take too much time anyway. Is the FBI involved?"

"They're overseeing the operation, but they're not moving into the office. Honestly, I don't blame them for not wanting to have anything to do with this. Guererra can be rather demanding. We have information on the suspected attackers; I'll brief you when you get back."

"Got it. We'll be back soon."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Guererra's house was a typical one-story in a quiet Virginia neighborhood with a garden and a porch swing. As they walked up the steps, Ziva considered the only consolation this assignment brought; she would be away from Tony. All it had been was a few evenings when neither of them had anyone else to go to after work and the playful teasing that tended to go on between them had gone beyond just talk. She doubted if Tony had even been thinking about her while it was going on. She had been thinking about him…but she wasn't going to 'go there', as she'd heard people say. Not with Tony. Although sometimes when he smiled at her, her mind went to the way his hands had felt on her skin, words he had whispered in her ear, memories too clear for her comfort. Nothing could happen between her and Tony; she was sure of that. Maybe a few days away from him would be enough for things to go back to the way they had been. Before they got too close.

When she knocked at the door, a slim Hispanic woman peered out at them with frightened eyes.

"Mariluz Guererra?" Ziva said. "_Somos los agentes de NCIS. Necesitamos hacerle a usted unas preguntas." _Mariluz looked at her, then at Tony, then behind them, glancing at every corner. "_Su padre no esta aqui,"_Ziva told her. On seeing no evidence to the contrary, Mariluz opened the screen door. "_Pasen ustedes," _she said to them, so quiet it was almost a whisper. Tony followed Ziva inside.

The interior of the house indicated that the owners were very interested in their faith. One whole wall was covered with decorative crosses. Two bookcases, on either side of the fireplace, were full of Christian authors such as Billy Graham, Max Lucado, Charles Spurgeon and a great many by Luther and Calvin. On one side of the mantle was thick book entitled _A Woman Rides the Beast. _On the other side, on a stand, was a large, ornately bound Bible. All the decorations were soft and rather feminine; the only signs of a masculine presence were a painting showing a war scene in a corner, beside a metal cross with a crown of thorns around it. The living room was spotless and smelled like lavender.

Mariluz appeared from the kitchen carrying a coffee pot and offered some to both of them. Tony declined, but Ziva accepted. The cups were beautiful and appeared to be china.

"You are here about my brother?" she said, hesitantly in English. The hand holding the coffee started to shake.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Guerrera," Tony said. "That is why we came. We need to know when the last time you saw him was."

With some effort and occasional help from Ziva, she communicated that she had last seen him the previous Thursday night. He had come home for dinner, but he left soon afterwards; he had said he was meeting friends of his. She had met all of these friends and knew them to be good, honorable, Christian men who would never do anything to hurt Martín. She had not seen anyone suspicious lately and had never heard of Boyd Park.

"One more thing," Ziva said. "And I'm very sorry, but I'm going to need to stay here, for your protection." Mariluz's face changed and looked furious.

"You mean," she snarled, "so I cannot escape again; so my father can take me back to Venezuela and throw me in a convent somewhere so he will not have the shame of having a daughter who is excommunicated."

"My first priority is your safety," Ziva said, trying to be tactful, although in her mind she knew that this was part of the reason 24 hour security had been assigned. Mariluz gave her a faint smile.

"I know and I am sorry for my outburst. Thank you. I will prepare you a place to sleep, Agent—"

"Officer David," Ziva said. "You won't even know I'm here."

********************************

Tony made sure that Ziva was settled and headed back to NCIS. He had arranged for other agents to watch the house and for the local LEOs to drive past every few hours. Not that he didn't trust Ziva to take care of herself and Mariluz, but he had learned from past experience; one agent in the house didn't always cut it if the bad guys were numerous—or very clever. Thoughts of Ziva fighting Venezuelan terrorists naturally led him to think about Ziva doing other things. He didn't think about their conversation earlier. Tony had learned early on how to compartmentalize things in his own mind and conscience. Dealing with Ziva's more annoying qualities would have to wait until Gibbs returned and the sole responsibility of solving cases was off his shoulders. Or at least until they had a case where the Director was not so anxious to solve. She had made it clear that this was to be their primary concern. The FBI had shown up to offer their 'recommendations' and so Tony could understand the hurry. He respected the Director and her ability to lead…and was glad it was her instead of him.

"Got anything, Ducky?" he asked, strolling into autopsy. The body of the Marine was laid out on the table like it always was; there was the usual Y-incision on the torso, but the neck was also cut open, a straight line from chin to collarbone.

"I have indeed, Tony. Quite unexpected."

"What is it?"

"This." With tweezers in a gloved hand, the doctor showed him a small piece of metal, tarnished and still bloody. Tony looked closely and saw that there were words engraved on it.

"It reads 'Pray for us' and on the other side is an engraved picture of a woman with a halo. Surely you know what this is."

"Haven't the foggiest," Tony said, wondering what the secret of Gibbs' patience was with this irreplaceable but rather long-winded member of their team.

"It is the joinerpiece of a rosary, Tony. And can you guess where I found it?"

"Probably not in time to solve this case," Tony said. Ducky raised his eyebrows at him, but took the hint and walked over to the body. "Here." Tony peered over.

"The victim's windpipe?" he asked.

"Actually the proper anatomical term is 'trachea', DiNozzo, and no. It was in fact lodged in the victim's thyroid gland. Also, I have to wonder why only this piece was found; a normal rosary is made from a circle of beads that connect here—" he pointed to the two top holes in the joiner piece "and there is another shorter string connecting to the bottom hole that consists of five beads and ends with a crucifix." Tony snapped his fingers triumphantly.

"McGee found beads at the scene, with blood on them," he said. "I sent it to the lab to see if it was the victim's."

"It almost certainly is; this indicates that the murderer probably used the rosary itself to strangle him. The top two holes are broken, indicating that the rosary probably broke when pulled tight around the neck, but the bottom hole is intact; someone may have cut off the rest of the chain before using it for that purpose. Most disturbing. And I found something else; it was not only strangulation but also suffocation that killed our Marine." Tony was silent, knowing that this would require a certain amount of explanation. "I found traces of cotton fibers inside his mouth and nose as well as highly concentrated liquid chloroform. The murderer probably gave him chloroform to render him unconscious, then tried to finish the job by strangulation. I found few petechiae, however; indicating that the strangulation was perimortem and was merely a contributing cause of death."

"Thanks, Ducky," Tony said and left the room. As usual, Ducky ignored this and continued talking.

"Did you know, the ancient Greeks would place coins in the mouths of the deceased, used to pay Charon when he came to ferry them across the river Styx to Hades. It's almost as if the murderer wanted the victim to be identified with this faith when he entered the afterlife. Also, the insertion point, right above the larynx, which is a part of what is called in the vernacular the throat, suggests the element of verbal confession of faith. It is likely that the murderer had strong feelings about Catholicism; whether they were positive or negative is difficult to deduce at this point." He turned around and saw no Tony. "Oh, well, my friend," he said to the corpse. "At least you will listen to me, although I know that you are something of a captive audience." As usual, the body made no reply. Ducky reflected for a moment what he might do if one ever did reply, then returned to work.

After another meeting with the director, Tony began the interrogations. They had pulled in members of every political group in the area even remotely connected with Venezuela. McGee observed for awhile, but his thoughts wandered constantly. In a way he was glad that Tony wasn't delegating much to him; it kept him from looking like an idiot. Abby was still dancing across his mind. He was furious that he'd let himself both fall and stay that much in love with her. He had known after they broke up that she was with other people—so was he—but he wished it wasn't Gibbs. To him, it was comparable to his father stealing his girlfriend—he wouldn't know what to think in that situation any more than he did it this one.

He paced the room outside for an hour before deciding what he had to do; he had to go talk to Abby. He wanted to hear it from her. He kept reliving in his mind the morning she'd waltzed in and just kissed Gibbs—no warning whatsoever. If she had shown any particular romantic feelings toward Gibbs, he had missed it completely. Not that he expected her to reconsider…he just wanted it to end on his terms if Abby insisted on shocking him like this. He glanced at Tony and decided that he wasn't afraid of him. Plus he had missed lunch searching for rosary beads. He walked out of the room, phone in hand.

*****************************

"It's the girl," Gibbs said. "Always is."

"Oh, yeah," Abby agreed. "Like we're supposed to believe she's all sweet and innocent? Any idiot can tell that she's been plotting this from the beginning. Oh, that's my phone!" She jumped up from the couch where they were watching a movie (Abby had all but forced him to) and ran to the kitchen where her phone was.

"Hello?" Gibbs heard her say. "Hi, Tim! How have you been? OhmiGod I haven't seen you in _forever_. I miss you guys soooo much; how're Tony and—what? Well, uh, I'm at Gibbs'—I mean Jethro's place. Sorry!" she yelled at the latter.

"Well, can I meet you somewhere, I would really like to talk to you," McGee said. It had cut him deeper than he expected to hear Abby referring to Gibbs as 'Jethro.'

"I guess so. When? Wait, aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I'm assuming DiNozzo knows you're gone," Gibbs said, taking the phone from Abby. "Come on over, McGee; we've made popcorn."

"Got it, boss; be there in ten." It was one of the standard answers filed under 'Boss' in McGee's head. He couldn't be sure if Gibbs was being sarcastic or not and he was already more than halfway there, so he figured that he would continue. As for what he would say he had no idea. But he wanted Abby to know that he still loved her and always would. She was too special for him to let her go without some kind of fight, even if he knew he would lose.

What he did not expect when he arrived was to see Tony's car and to find Tony inside in the living room talking to Gibbs. Abby was lounging on the couch wearing one of her t-shirts stretched tightly across her belly and a pair of pants that cut off at the knee with socks sporting skull-and-crossbones. Her pigtails were secured with matching skull-and-crossbones barrettes. She was eating banana popcorn balls (her own invention that involved cutting up and slightly mashing bananas, then surrounding them with popcorn held together with peanut butter)

"Tim!" she shrieked and jumped up to hug him. McGee wrapped his arms around her, but didn't quite know what to say. He was now thoroughly confused. Tony and Gibbs didn't even glance at him.

"What's Tony doing here?" he whispered when Abby released him. She shrugged.

"I actually thought he was you for about two seconds while I hugged him because I totally wasn't expecting him," she said, launching into animated conversation, Abby-style. "But he doesn't have that hair on the back of his neck like you do and he wears a different cologne so once I realized that he wasn't you I asked him that same question and all he said was 'it's good to see you, Abby' and started talking to Gibbs. What did you need to talk to me about?" McGee honestly didn't remember, between the odd circumstances and just looking at Abby. She gave so much of herself to the world, but for him to have had that taste and yet not be able to have everything…

"McGee, what the hell are you doing here?" Tony demanded angrily, now that he and Gibbs had noticed him. "Don't you have work to do?" McGee was feeling very conflicted and confused; otherwise he wouldn't have replied as he did.

"Don't you, Tony?" he snapped back. "I missed Abby; I came to see her. You apparently did the same thing with Gibbs."

"Not quite like that, Probie," Tony said. "Situations come up; I needed advice."

"Why? What's going on?" McGee asked.

"Yeah, I wanna know too; what's the deal?" Abby chimed in.

"I have kind of a problem," he said. "I've been ordered to pull all surveillance and backup away from the Guererra's house, leaving only Ziva." He sighed. "Basically, they're using them as bait. Ziva could be in a lot of trouble."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The mood became tense and no one spoke for a moment. Then Abby piped up, "How is that different from normal? Ziva puts her life in danger all the time; you all do. Isn't that kind of in the job description?

"Yeah, but normally she knows what she's getting into. This time she has no clue," Tony replied, looking dismal. "And I can't tell her without risking compromising the case. The place is crawling with bugs."

"So they surprise her and she throws a knife at their face," McGee says. "Not that I'm not concerned for her, but I really think Ziva can handle just about any situation we can put her in."

"I'm with McGee on this one," Abby said. "We all know that Ziva could kick any one of our asses. 'Cept maybe yours, Jethro," she said, giving Gibbs a quick kiss on the cheek. He smiled.

"You're doing all you can, DiNozzo," he said. "Ziva knew what she was doing when she took this job. Don't second-guess yourself about these kinds of decisions—ever. Now get back to work." The light slap on the head seemed more like a pat. "Although, pulling back the surveillance agent can wait a few hours, can't it?" Tony nodded and turned to go. "McGee, what are you still doing here? Didn't you hear him say there were bugs? Go trace 'em." McGee looked at Abby.

"I'll come back later, ok?" he said.

"Promise?" she asked. "I miss you."

"Sure," McGee. "See you, boss." He and Tony got in their cars and drove back to headquarters.

******************************

Memories swirled and mixed like paint thrown on a canvas, colors and lines melding chaotically. Fires blazed. Machinery creaked in the hot sun. Children screamed for their mothers. Music played. People chattered, chanted in unison. Helicopters thundered across the sky . Explosions sent shrapnel flying through windows and into streets, into the chests and eye sockets of people nearby, the blood soaked their clothing. More screams. The rhythmic fire of machine guns. The whistle of a blade flying through the air. Shouting, heavy blows to the head. Dark curls devoured by fire. An eye pressed to a targeting scope.

This was the minefield of Ziva's subconscious, where she walked on a nightly basis. It was to her benefit that she never remembered exactly what she dreamed about. But although details and images escaped her, the horror of loss never did. People she knew, cared about, bodies jerking and twisting, dancing like puppets as a rapid fire of bullets tore through them.

She awoke suddenly, on Mariluz Guererra's sofa, still hearing machine gun fire. Then she realized it was tapping. There was someone standing on the porch, peering in the window, tapping on the frame. Immediately she grabbed her gun and her phone and moved silently to the room where Mariluz slept. Once she verified that the hallway and the room were clear, she went in and stood, gun at the ready, leaning against the wall beside the door. She then called the other agent that Tony had assigned to surveillance (she had easily spotted him the previous evening) and asked him to come check it out. She had no intention of going outside; Tony had warned her about a previous case in which the agent had been lured out of the house, thinking they were chasing the perpetrator, only to have someone else go in and get the target while they were distracted. She heard the tapping continue, then heard footsteps and two voices on the steps, one male, one female. A moment later, her phone chirped.

"It's a girl," the agent said. "Says that she knows Martín Guererra and came here to find out where he was. I told her that he was dead; she wanted to know who killed him. Doesn't seem too surprised that he's dead."

"Take her to NCIS headquarters and let Tony talk to her," Ziva replied. At least she assumed that Tony would still be there, working, if he was trying to be as Gibbs-like as possible.

"Got it." The phone went dead and she heard the footsteps moving off the porch. After they were gone, she made one more sweep of the house and found nothing. Still feeling a little uneasy, she went back to the sofa, but only let herself doze until morning, in case it should happen again.

*****************************

Salome Coen, seated in the interrogation room, was wiping her eyes, unaware that she was being watched. Tony had watched her for an hour and a half, part of which she'd slept, part of which she'd cried and part of which she'd prayed. She had a rosary with wooden beads in her hands right then. That had sparked his interest; it did seem odd to see one for the second time in an investigation into the death of a Protestant. McGee was in the lab with the geeks searching for the source of the bugs, something he had said would take some time. Tony would rather be alone just then. He wanted to focus on the case so he would stop questioning himself. Surely it was not the fact that it was Ziva. He would be just as worried if it was McGee or Ducky…or would he? He wasn't denying that Ziva could defend herself better than many of them could. It was a feeling bordering on guilt that bothered him; he couldn't have told her to be more careful? But he couldn't call her; they would be listening. And the moment she set foot out of the house, Mariluz would be gone. And he couldn't take the chance of replacing her. But there were no real feelings there. She was just a 'friend with benefits', you could say. If she was killed…Tony realized just in time where this train of thought was leading him and stopped. Deal with the case right now. Worry about Ziva later. It was what Gibbs would do.

"So you knew Martín Guererra?" he asked, circling the table where the young woman was seated.

"Yeah, pretty well," Salome replied. "I met him at church."

"Did the two of you have a relationship?" She hesitated.

"I think it—we could have had one. I liked him, and I think he liked me. He just knew how complicated it would be; he is—was going to be deployed soon."

"Did you know his history? That his father was a powerful man in Venezuela?"

"He told me," she said, simply. "That was why he wanted me to stay away from the house. He doesn't want anyone to connect me with him. He's always acting kind of paranoid, like people are out to get him. I imagine it's because people _were_ out to get him in Venezuela and he can't get over it. It's sweet, though. I know that, even though it's not necessary, he's doing it because he doesn't want anything to happen to me." Tony didn't bother to correct her tense mistakes.

"What about his sister? Do you know her well?" Salome looked up in surprise.

"He has a sister?" she asked.

"You didn't know about his sister?"

"He never said anything."

"She never came to your church? They both left Venezuela because they converted to Protestantism and they were no longer welcome there; I assumed their beliefs were similar." The girl raised her eyebrows.

"Converted?" she asked. "I don't think so. We both go to St. Paul's Catholic Church on Henderson Street. We talked a lot about theology and he never said anything that sounded Protestant. In fact he was the one pushing me toward more Catholic beliefs. I converted from Judaism about six years ago, you see." Tony wasn't sure what these new discoveries meant, but he knew he had to find out fast.

"Did he ever tell you _why_ he left Venezuela?"

"He told me that he didn't like how politics and religion were twisted together. People used the Church to get what they wanted. His father wanted to use his devotion to our Lord for his own purposes. Here, he had heard, the Church was freer. So he left, and tried to stay as quiet as he could."

"You said you had never been to his house before; what were you doing there tonight?"

"He wasn't at Mass on Sunday. I've known him three years and he's _never_ missed a Sunday that I know of. I knew something was wrong, so I called him and got no answer and I was worried about him—you know how you worry about someone but you never really _believe_ that something happened?" She wiped away a tear. "How did he die?" she asked.

"He was strangled and suffocated," Tony answered. Salome gasped and put up a struggle not to cry again.

"Why?" she asked.

"We're investigating that," Tony said. "Can you think of anything that you noticed? Anyone following him; anyone suspicious at church?"

"No," Salome said. "I can't think of anything." Tony turned toward the glass and stared at his own reflection for a moment. How did Gibbs do it? How did he pull fact together with logic like he was knitting a sweater? He would have known what all this meant and would have known what else to ask. But for now, Tony was on his own.

"Thank you, Ms. Coen; you can go now. I'd appreciate it if you would call me if you think of anything else that might help." He handed her his phone number on a card. "Someone will drive you back to your apartment." Salome gave him the courtesy smile through grief then stood up to leave. As she did so, she took something out of her pocket, a short string of red beads that ended in a crucifix. Tony stared at it for a moment.

"What is that?" he asked her, feeling glad that he'd chosen not to tell her about the rosary found with the victim.

"It's a chaplet," Salome said. "Martín gave it to me, so when he was deployed, I could ask his patron saint to pray for him. It's for St. Martin of Tours. Kind of ironic, really, since Martín is a Marine." Tony didn't wait to hear why it was ironic.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Coen, could you please sit back down and set the chaplet on the table in front of you?" Looking confused and scared, Salome did what he asked. He then called someone from the lab and they came up and bagged it, taking it to test for blood. Salome said nothing, just looked like someone in pain.

"When will I be able to have it back?" she asked.

"We'll let you know." He left the room.

What the hell was going on? The FBI suspected religious extremists, who wanted to 'break the hold of Catholicism' on the country. The theory was that they had found out about the Guererras through religious channels, had been planning to kidnap them to hold them for ransom, and something simply went wrong when they tried to take Martín. Now that the case was publicized and their father was in the country, they had feared an attack on both Mariluz and himself. The hope was that whoever it was would go for Mariluz first and not be intimidated by Ziva, not knowing what she was capable of. Shepard had agreed and not fought the decision because they wanted flawless proof so they could keep the criminals in the country. However, if Martín had remained Catholic, that changed things. Had he lied to his sister? Had she truly converted, or was that just a superficial reason for wanting to get out of the country? Maybe religion wasn't even involved; maybe this was all political. Could Salome be involved? She looked innocent enough, but so had many murderers they had caught in the past. If she was, she would surely tell whoever she worked with that they were on to her. But would a murderer really keep a trophy like that? In the middle of these thoughts, his phone.

"DiNozzo. Are you sure? Well, is it the victim's? I want to know as fast as you possibly can get it." The lab tech had found blood on the chaplet, had swabbed it and was now working to find out if it was Martín Guererra's. Tony thought very, very quickly.

"I'm sorry," he said when he walked in fifteen minutes later and handed her back the chaplet. "I made a mistake; you're free to go. Oh and by the way," he added as she got up to leave. "I would advise you not to go back to the Guererra's house. We know that it's possible that there could be another attack on his sister, so we have an agent there. We're more worried, though, about his father, so for the most part we're watching the embassy, but I wouldn't want you to get hurt, so it's best if you stayed home." Salome nodded, seeming uninterested and then left. The bait was offered. Tony sighed, hating what he was doing.

"Sure hope you got extra ammo, Ziva," he said. Then he picked up his phone and gave the order for the second agent to take Salome home, then return to headquarters. Ziva was now totally on her own.

************************************

Staying with Mariluz was not entirely unpleasant. The young woman was kind and eager to please, although Ziva didn't take advantage. She accepted coffee and breakfast in the morning, feeling a little groggy from her sleep being interrupted the previous night, and Mariluz owned a treadmill so she got something resembling a run. She was careful not to let her guard down at any point, something that Mariluz obviously noticed because she continued to ask if there was anything else that she could do for her.

"I'm fine, thank you," Ziva said politely. "Remember, I'm here for your benefit, not the other way around."

"I'm sorry," Mariluz said. "I wish that there was more that I could do."

"Most people do," Ziva told her. "I'm sorry your brother is dead. It must be a little frightening."

"You do not know, Officer David," Mariluz said softly. "I must confess that I am glad you are here. I don't know what will happen when all this is over and I am on my own, now that my father knows where I am. Is there no way that I could just—slip away? I would be safe."

"No," Ziva said quickly. "If someone is not with you, we cannot guarantee your safety. We are dealing with very powerful people; if you leave here, you will almost certainly be caught."

Mariluz looked at the ground and nodded silently. Then she bit her lip, sat down on the sofa and began to cry. Feeling a bit awkward, Ziva moved to sit beside her to make some attempt at being comforting.

"I don't want to go back to Venezuela," Mariluz whimpered. "I am grateful for your protection, Agent David, but—you cannot know what it is like to have a father like mine; powerful, demanding, using his own children as pawns." Ziva had to suppress an ironic smile.

"We will do what we can to help you," Ziva said. "Perhaps you might relocate?"

"No, no. My father is like, oh, what is the American phrase?"

"You are asking the wrong person," Ziva said. "I'm Israeli; English was not my first language. I still often make mistakes that others seem to find amusing."

"Israeli," Mariluz repeated. "Then you're from the Holy Land?"

"We like to think of it that way. _Whose_ Holy Land is where the war starts."

"Then you are Jewish?"

"Yes."

"A bulldog," Mariluz said, having found the words. "He is like a bulldog; he will not let go or give up. He will not rest until I am back in his country, following his beliefs, doing what he wants. I love him so dearly, and I love my people; why am I an outcast for wanting to help them and why will they not let me?" Ziva felt an uncharacteristic rush of sympathy and a gentler touch came into the arm around Mariluz's shoulders.

"It is hard, I know," she said. "But have you thought that maybe there is something for you to do in Venezuela; maybe it is, how would you put it, _el Mano de Dios_? Your love for the people around you is strong; it will find some way out."

Mariluz looked up at her and Ziva handed her a box of tissues from the lamp table. "You are right," she said. "Maybe God has a mission for me there. There is so much wrong in Venezuela; the drug trade is rampant, little children sell cocaine and heroin and smuggle it across the border. The bodies of babies are taken from hospitals and used to carry drugs; _babies_." She seemed on the verge of tears again.

"The world can be cruel and frightening," Ziva said. "But don't let it destroy you, when you can fight back."

"And here I am hiding in Virginia," Mariluz said. Both women were silent for a moment. "Would you allow me some time alone to pray?"

"Of course," Ziva said. "I'll be right out here." As Mariluz turned to go, she stopped and said, "Thank you, Officer David."

"Anything I can do to help."

While Mariluz was in the back praying, Ziva found herself wandering aimlessly around the house, pausing intermittently to look out the window. The day was beautiful, and she wished she could go for a real run. She didn't dare leave, though. In her heart, she was beginning to feel a great deal of pity and sympathy for her charge. People with the compassion and desire to try to change things were too often held back by corruption and hate. Ziva lacked the will to do anything but join them—even though Mossad worked in defense of Israel and was necessary, she knew it was the other half of a cycle of hatred. She wondered what her sister would have been doing, if she had lived. Probably fighting against a world that was cold, hard, angry, full of bloodlust and hostility—people like Ziva herself. She didn't think of her sister often (although she frequently dreamed about her) and she hoped that she would forgive her for it. And a little core of anxiety was growing in her that this would turn out badly, as many of their cases did. She felt that the world could not afford to lose another like them.

Her worry intensified when she stopped her reflections and realized that the second agent was no longer there. Could he have moved? The car had been across the street, parked on the road a few houses down. She scanned the street looking for the car; it was nowhere to be found. After considering for a moment, she took her gun and cautiously opened the front door. She walked to the porch steps and looked farther. No one was there. Ziva wondered if something was wrong or if the agent had been called away. Or if he had been caught and killed. Tony would know, she thought, and reached for her phone. It was not in her pocket. Where had she had it last? In Mariluz's room, the previous evening. Still carrying her gun, she walked down the hall to find it.

*******************************

When McGee finally traced the bugs to a warehouse outside Hampton, he and Tony raced there with two backup agents; within minutes, the four of them had their guns pointed at five fierce-looking Hispanic men, who put their hands up as commanded, but kept the defiant expressions on their faces. Tony and the other agents handcuffed the men while McGee examined the computers that they were monitoring. He put on the headphones to listen.

"Honestly thought you would get away with it, huh?" Tony said, unable to resist being cocky. The man just glared at him. "Who do you belong to?" The man said something in Spanish and spat at him. _Where's Ziva when you need her?_ he thought as he wiped his face. He missed her, both for her translation abilities and her tendency to get a little carried away when it came to interrogation.

"It was not all us!" Tony spun around, gun in hand and found himself looking at a frightened-looking man, crouching behind a box in the corner with his hands up.

"What do you mean?" he asked, venturing closer, but not taking his eyes off of him.

"Our plan. It was not of us. It was her idea."

"_Callate, Joachim!_" the biggest of the other men shouted.

"Yeah, we're on to your fearless leader; don't suppose you'd be interested in telling me how you got mixed up with someone like her—an American ex-Jew working for Venezuelan politics?" Joachim looked puzzled.

"_Ella no es Americana."_

"And that would be very helpful to me if I spoke Spanish," Tony said. "Now tell me, in English, please, what exactly you guys had planned, or you're going to be very, very sorry."

"Boss," McGee said, forgetting that he was speaking to Tony. "You need to hear this." One of the other agents took over Joachim and Tony strode over and took the headphones from McGee. His expression suddenly changed to fear and McGee nodded. Tony dropped the headphones. "Let's go, Probie."


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

A/N2: In the last chapter I indicated that Tony doesn't know Spanish, but I found out that isn't true. Still, I hope you'll play along with me. :) Just for this story.

Ziva walked through the house, keeping her eye on every shadow. She could hear music playing in the back room and assumed that Mariluz was there. Not wanting to disturb her to ask her permission, Ziva went into her bedroom to look for her phone. She checked the floor, the dresser, even under the bed in case it had slid underneath, but could not find it. And she needed to talk to Tony as soon as possible. Maybe Mariluz had picked it up, not knowing it was hers, and set it somewhere. Ziva knocked on the door to the back room and opened the door slowly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Ms. Guererra, but have you seen—" Ziva paused in surprise. Mariluz was not there. A Bible was open on a chair across the room and an IPod attached to speakers was playing soft worship music. There was no sign of a struggle.

Ziva spun around and aimed her gun at the hallway. She saw no one. She stood there for a moment, listening, trying to hear anything above the pounding of blood in her ears. There would be time for chastising herself for failing in the field of duty later. Think, she told herself. Focus on what to do _now_. There were no windows or other doors out of the room. So if someone had come in and taken Mariluz, they must have first taken her out of that room and through the rest of the house. But surely she would have heard that! Maybe they were still in the house. But she could not follow protocol and call for back up; she would have to do it herself. Then she started searching room to room. She checked the hall closet, then Mariluz's room, although she had just been in there, and went into Martín's room. There was no one there, but she had to check the closet too.

When she opened it, her eyes widened with surprise. Martín had made it into a chapel of sorts and, according to what Ziva knew about the two branches of Christianity, nothing in this room was associated with Protestantism. A crucifix hung against the back wall; the rest of the wall space consisted of pictures of saints. Mary had her own small shrine in the corner. Beside it was a candle, and matches. And on the table in front of it…Ziva crept closer and picked up the short string of beads with a crucifix at the end. They were identical to the beads that she and McGee had found at the crime scene. What were they doing here, if they were in fact the rest of the rosary? Ziva picked them up; drops of dried blood were clearly visible.

She had, of course, heard the footsteps behind her and turned as a thick, muscular hand reached out for her. She kicked his hand away and against the doorframe and then aimed her gun at him. In the dim light of the room, she could see that she was surrounded by at least five men. Where had they all come from? And how could she be so stupid? Now she was trapped, with only a closet behind her and no means of escape. They would probably kill her. But not without a fight. She shot the first man in the face easily; as he fell, she aimed her gun at the others. Then she saw a flash of long black hair and a smaller form; Mariluz. She hesitated, not wanting to fire at her. Simultaneously, her gun hand was grabbed and twisted and she was kicked in the stomach, stealing her breath. The gun dropped to the ground. She kicked back and felt her foot make contact with someone's face. She struggled to free her hand, but suddenly they were all on her, knocking her to the floor. She tried to get up, tried to grab the gun, but someone's foot was on her hand, cracking the bone, it felt like. Hopefully they would just shoot her and get it over with. Then she saw her. Mariluz was standing there in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Ziva said to her. Then Mariluz's face changed. It was horrific. It twisted and contorted with hatred and malice. She hissed something obscene in Spanish that Ziva would not have translated. Ziva stared at her, unable to believe her eyes. This could not be the same woman who had been crying for love of her country an hour before.

"_Matala," _she said to the men around her. A knee pressed into her back, constricting her chest, and then something was pulled tight around her neck, something sharp. Her vision started to dim. She heard voices talking in Spanish, but couldn't understand. Her lungs gasped for air, but the more she struggled, the more the cord cut into her neck. She could feel blood dripping down. Her head felt like it was being squeezed and she was starting to lose consciousness. Then the pressure loosened a little and she gulped in what air she could. A cloth was placed over her mouth and nose, with a smell that made her feel dizzy.

"_No,"_ she heard a voice say. "_Hazla sufrir, como Cristo cuando su pueblo le mataron._" Then the cloth was removed and the cord pulled tight again. She fought to free her hands, but couldn't; whoever was holding her was too strong. Then she could feel nothing and knew that she was about to die. Her body went limp. Her eyes could see nothing but dim shapes. Her hands were released, but she couldn't use them. She was being thrown and heard rather than felt the back of her head hit the wall. She heard rustling and saw bright orange in front of her. The closet was on fire. She could only hope that she would die before the fire got close to her. She was still trying to breathe, but got nothing but smoke. She heard new voices, some that she knew. McGee! Was he here? Was she hallucinating? Then more voices; she seemed to be moving. Death? But, no, there was air; she could hear herself gasping. The smoke was gone and now feeling was starting to come back. Hands were moving her; something was around her neck and she still couldn't see. She was being carried and could feel every step. Then light, then it disappeared again. She felt something over her face and felt cold gas rushing into her mouth. The chloroform again? She tried to lift her hand and found that she could; she reached up and touched her face and felt a plastic mask. It was an oxygen mask and she was in an ambulance. Her vision was clear. Lights shone in her eyes; her neck stung where the gauze under the plastic C-collar was pressing on the wound and the back of her head was starting to hurt like all hell.

"What happened?" she tried to ask the EMT. It came out garbled and croaky and it felt like knives were being run down her throat.

"What is your name, ma'am?" he asked her.

"Officer David, NCIS," she managed to say. "What happened in there? Did she—she didn't—"

"It's better if you don't talk, ma'am. Open your mouth please." Ziva did what she was asked. "I don't see any burns in her mouth," he said to the other EMT. "She's alert and oriented. Pulse ox is 97%. Can we take her off the O2?"

"Yeah, go ahead," the other said. "Watch her pressures and keep an eye on the bleeding. I'll go get the other one." The mask was removed from her face. She was starting to feel something close to normal, although terribly weak and her head was still killing her. The EMT told her to lay flat and not to move; they would be transporting her to a local hospital to check for spinal injuries. No one would tell her anything. A few minutes later, one of the men helped another person in, then shut the door and she felt the ambulance start to move. Ziva moved her head as much as she could to see who it was over the C-collar; it was a young woman that she had never seen before. Her head and wrists were bandaged.

"Are you with NCIS?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Ziva replied hoarsely. "Officer David."

"I'm Salome Coen," the girl said. "You must be the one that Agent DiNozzo told me about last night. It was me that you heard tapping on the window. Are you—ok?" Then she shook her head and looked down. "Stupid question, I guess. I saw what they tried to do to you."

"I—think I will be fine," Ziva said. "You saw? You were there?"

"Yes," she said. "I—I knew Martín. I got a text message on my phone last night after the agent took me home from him that told me to come to his house. I honestly thought he was still alive. Seems ridiculous now. And when I got here, they—they grabbed me and took me to the basement and tied me up and—the woman—I guess it was Martín's sister, Agent DiNozzo just told me last night that he even had a sister."

"Had you never met her?"

"No. He never mentioned it. I don't think—how could they be related? I mean, you saw her!" Salome went silent and stared out the window. "Could we talk about this later, Officer David? I know your throat must hurt." Something in the way she said Ziva's name was familiar.

"Salome Coen?" she asked, for clarification, and the girl nodded. "Are you Jewish?"

"Well, depends on your definition, I guess. I'm a Messianic Jew. I joined the Catholic Church when I was in college. Martín and I went to the same church, in fact; that's where I knew him from. It's a long story; one that I'm always willing to tell, but you probably don't want to hear it right now. And you must be Jewish; you have an Israeli accent."

"As do you; just a hint though. How long did you live there?"

"About five years, until I was seventeen. Then we came back because my father thought it was getting too dangerous. Are you a native?"

"I was in Mossad," Ziva said. "And transferred to NCIS as a liaison of sorts. Also a long story." She paused and thought for a moment. "I thought that Martín had converted to Protestantism."

"That's what he apparently told everyone," Salome said. "I guess his sister found out he wasn't serious about it."

"What did she do?" Salome averted her eyes and bit her lip.

"In the basement, she—said things. About him and me. Called us 'debaucherers with the whore of Babylon'. Said we only deserved to die for betraying Christ. And since I was also a Jew, I was doubly guilty. When she burned up all of Martín's things, she was going to throw me in too." Her voice began to shake and quiet tears rolled down her face. "She told me what she had done to Martín—and what she was going to do to you. I saw her when she—" Salome brought her hand to her neck. Cold horror rushed over Ziva as she realized what Salome was saying, that Mariluz had been the one trying to strangle her. Salome saw her reaction. "You had no idea."

"No," Ziva said, quietly. "The thought never entered my mind." _Idiot,_ she said to herself. _You never should have gotten so involved. You should have seen something like this coming. _

The rest of the drive was quiet. Her mind ran in circles. She wanted to talk to Tony and get a clear picture of what was going on; who Mariluz had been working with, how they had found out in time. She couldn't put all the pieces together in her head. Salome stared out the window the whole time, trying to hide the tears that continued to flow.

When they arrived at the hospital, Salome suddenly gave her a look of desperation.

"Would you—," she said hesitantly. "Would you maybe let me know what happened? I mean, when this is all over and you find out yourself."

"Considering that you were assaulted as well and are a witness," Ziva said, "believe me, we will be contacting you."

"I gave Agent DiNozzo my phone number," she said. "I hope you feel better." The EMT opened the doors and helped Salome down and led her into the ER.

Ziva was taken immediately to X-ray her spine and hand. Her hand was fractured, but her spine was not, so they took the C-collar off , bandaged her neck and told her to keep her hand still until the ER doctor could see her. He was occupied with another trauma so, since she was stable, she would have to wait for some time. She wanted to know if Tony or McGee was there, but no one would give her any information.

"They're not patients," she finally said, after a nurse tech recited the HIPAA laws to her. "At least I don't think so. I work with them." The tech told her he would check the waiting room. Ziva sighed. _He'd better be here,_ she thought. _Gibbs, at least, would be here._

**********************************

Tony strode into the ER waiting room only a few seconds after the nurse tech had asked if there was an Agent DiNozzo or McGee there.

"I'm Agent DiNozzo," he said. "This for Officer David?" The tech nodded for him to follow and took him to Ziva's cubicle. The curtain was open, so he could see her when he was a little ways down the hall, sitting on the ER bed, arms folded, looking angry. Her face was pale and below her ears, where the bandage didn't reach, the ligature mark could be easily seen. Tony did his best to disguise his emotional reaction to this. He had gotten her into that situation. If he and McGee hadn't gotten there in time…

McGee. He just remembered. Stopping for a moment in the hallway, he called McGee and apologized (in his own way) for leaving him in the car and told him to come in. When he turned around to enter the cubicle, Ziva had noticed him and was glaring at him, arms still crossed. They both spoke at the same time.

"Are you ok?"

"Tony, what the hell is going on?" Tony smiled and chuckled bitterly. Even after a near-death experience, same old Ziva.

"Tell me!" Ziva demanded. "What happened to Mariluz? She looked—" Her expression changed, grew more disturbed. "She looked demon-possessed. And that girl, Salome, tells me that she tried to kill me."

"That's about it," Tony told her. "When we got there, she and her henchmen were about to torch the closet with you in it and were going to throw Salome in there too. Believe it or not, as of last night, Salome was my main suspect. She had this beaded thing, looked like what Ducky described as the missing piece of the rosary."

"I think I found that in Martín Guererra's closet," Ziva said.

"Yeah, we got it once we got the fire out and arrested everyone."

"Why did you show up in the first place?"

"The house was bugged all over; McGee traced it and we heard what was going on over there. It was how she kept in contact with her little group of other religious fanatics, who were hiding out so her brother wouldn't know anything, and how she found out that her brother was still Catholic. About that, the best I can figure out is that they were both dissatisfied with the religious situation in Venezuela, although in different ways. And I don't think he knew quite how crazy she was. Of course he found out—when she strangled him." Tony smiled mirthlessly.

"You mean she—_she_ killed her brother?"

"Yeah. They had some idea of using him to negotiate with her father to get rid of the Catholics in her country. But it seems that she got a little overzealous. They were only supposed to knock him out with chloroform; he was suffocated and then strangled, with a rosary piece lodged in his neck." Ziva's hand went to her bandaged neck.

"Tony, did she—"

"Steal your necklace, wind it around an electrical cord and try to use it to kill you? Yeah. Some kind of fixation she's got with religious symbols; the usual crazy stuff. We've got it in Evidence. Once it gets cleaned up we'll get it back to you." Ziva sat back, looking shaken.

"She did all that," she said, "just because he was Catholic and she was Protestant?"

"That woman is sick," Tony told her. "That kind of thing doesn't happen every day. But yeah, it can get ugly."

"I know," she said. "I've seen ugly. But this—they were both Christians, no?"

"Yeah, well," Tony said, choosing his words carefully. "There are some that say that the Jews and the Muslims worship the same God and have the same father and the war is a family feud that's gotten—er, a little out of hand."

"I have heard that," Ziva said. "I believe it to some degree myself. But—," she stared off into space for a moment. "I never saw it, Tony. I never suspected, not for a minute. She was a different person when I talked to her. A very good liar, I suppose."

"I know," Tony said. "All sweet and everything, offering us coffee. Damn," he said, shaking his head. "How messed up do you have to be to kill your own brother, over something like that." Lost in thought, he didn't see Ziva look at him out of the corner of her eyes, then down at the floor. After a minute, he looked at her, then looked concerned. "You're bleeding, Ziva."

"Am I? Where?" She reached for her neck.

"No, it's—it's back here, your head." He grabbed a piece of gauze on the table in the corner and reached to wipe the blood off of her. "They should probably get you a bandage for that." Her hair was soft to his touch. Looking at her, feeling her hair under his fingers, provoked something in him. A feeling that had nothing to do with sex, for once. She had almost died. Tony got just a hint of what it would feel like to never be able to see her or touch her again. He wanted to grab hold of her and not let go, just so he would never have to feel that. Of course, if he hadn't been such an idiot and put her in danger, she wouldn't be there. Emotions that Tony barely knew the names of, much less how to handle, were starting to come into conflict. Ziva reached back and took the gauze from him and he withdrew his hand.

McGee came in just then. It had taken him some time to find a parking place; Tony had simply driven up to a handicapped spot near the ER entrance, parked, and gotten out, leaving McGee to find a legal parking spot.

"Hey, Ziva," he said. "How are you?"

"As good as can be expected. Thanks to you two, I take it."

"Hey!" Tony said. "How come he doesn't get the third degree?"

"Well, you already answered all my questions, Tony. Not to mention that he was the one who actually traced the bug."

"And I arrested 'em. Eight huge guys, could have been professional wrestlers."

"There were five and you had three other agents with you, Tony." Tony gave McGee the 'I'm going to hit you later' smile.

A head poked around the curtain; it was the ER doctor, there to examine her.

"I will come out when I'm done," Ziva said.

"We'll be waiting." Tony left and McGee followed.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

As soon as they got back into the waiting room, Gibbs arrived. Tony had called to tell him what had happened, knowing what the consequences would be of keeping Gibbs out of the loop, especially given that one of them was in an Emergency Room. When he walked in, they told him that Ziva was with the doctor and was doing ok.

"McGee, Abby wants you to call her," he said. He was giving him a look that McGee could not fathom. Almost threatening. Then he pulled Tony aside to talk to him. Not knowing what else he could do, McGee did as requested.

"Tim! OhmiGod, is Ziva ok? Tony told Jethro—somebody tried to strangle her and she was going to the hospital—ohmiGod, ohmiGod, is she _alive_?"

McGee related to Abby what happened. He could almost see her eyes widen and the corners of her mouth droop with worry; he knew every expression so well.

"So are we going to talk?" she asked, once brought up to speed and reassured that Ziva was fine. "I figure I know what about. I know everything's changing so fast and it's going to change even more, but I want to know that you and I are ok."

"Gibbs is probably about to order us back to headquarters," he said. "The case won't take long to wrap up. They were caught redhanded and most of the problem is just politics now; keeping them in the country. I'll let you know."

An opportunity did not come until the next day. In addition to the attack on Ziva and Salome, the extremists had tried to kidnap Guererra himself at the embassy. It had been handled, but catching so many bad guys at once made for a lot of paperwork. Ziva was still recuperating so he and Tony had to do the work of three agents. Early afternoon, however, he found himself driving again towards Gibbs (and Abby's) place.

Abby welcomed him much as she had when he had been there last, dressed in a red velvet maternity top and baggy black jeans with chains, along with the usual collar and jewelry. She led him into the kitchen and he sat down at the table while she poured a banana smoothie into a CafPow! cup.

"Want one?" she asked. "It's weird, but this really works for me and I don't miss the actual CafPow! as much. Of course I've been craving bananas so bad that sometimes I even forget about caffeine. See?" She gestured at the shelves on which were at least ten bunches of bananas in various stages of ripeness. "These mushy ones are just perfect for smoothies." McGee refused a smoothie, so she sat down across from him and started drinking hers, grimacing and then laughing occasionally when she got a brain freeze. He sat and watched her, feeling like it was the last time he would ever see her. How was it possible that he should still feel so much for her when she now had a certain future with another man? Would it ever go away?

"So you're moved in here now, huh?"

"Yep. Even brought the coffin," Abby said, grinning mischievously. McGee looked down at the floor; he didn't want to remember.

"Oh, Tim," Abby said, seeing his expression. "This is what I was afraid of. I don't want to hurt you. I want you to be happy. I know it's hard but please trust me—you'll find someone better than me—"

"Abby," McGee said, unexpectedly choking up. "How could someone be better than you? How and I supposed to find anyone on the face of this earth as beautiful, as wonderful, as amazing—" His words failed him. When he looked up at Abby, he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Abby," he said. "Please don't cry. I-I didn't mean it that way—I mean, I did, but—I just—I'm sorry." Abby leaned her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he got up, took the seat beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said. "I just wanted you to know how much I love you."

"I know, Tim," Abby said, with a whimper. "You think that I never noticed? I've been waiting so long for you to get over me and now this happened and I thought—Listen, I love Jethro. I've loved him for years. And now we're mismatched and I wish you could love me like I love you, because I _can't_ wish that I could love you like you love me. Now that we have this baby and everything is just falling into place like that's the way it was always meant to be—it's like the hand of fate. I can't argue with that and I truly believe that this is what's best for all of us."

"Abby," McGee said, trying to put his thoughts into a coherent form. "It's just—sometimes things seem like—and they aren't—and what if it doesn't work out?" he finally said. "Gibbs—"

"I know," Abby said quickly, warning him not to go there. "We've talked about that. But Tim, nothing is guaranteed in any relationship and Jethro is trying very hard to make this work—harder than most of the guys I've dated even. He really wants this, and so do I and I have faith in him. I don't want to hurt you either. But this is my choice. Maybe someday you can forgive me."

McGee had known it was the way it was going to be, and deep down, he knew what Abby was talking about. Besides, he knew he couldn't bring himself to break up a family. He had held out hope for quite some time, but as soon as he had found out that Abby was pregnant he had known what was coming. Accepting it was what was hard. He wanted to tell her all his worries; what about the age difference? What if Gibbs had only so many more years to live; would she be raising their child alone? With two parents so involved in their work, would the baby take second place in their lives? But Abby was right. It was her choice to make and if this was what she really believed would make her happy, who was he to stop her? Let her go, he told himself. Whatever happens, you can't protect her. Let her live her life.

"Abby, I'm not holding this against you. I just want you—and your baby—to be happy—"

"And I am," Abby said. "Yeah, it's new and crazy and frustrating at times, but I am wonderfully, deliriously happy. I can't wait to have this baby and have a family. And I want you to have that someday too. It's out there, Tim; you just have to wait and watch and—not settle for less." She smiled apologetically, having implied that he was the 'less' she was referring to. McGee just smiled back and quietly took it.

"You ok?" he asked, now that she had stopped sniffling.

"Yeah," she said. "You?"

"I'll be fine," McGee said. If only he felt it. Knowing that Abby was right didn't do much to ease the pain of having to let her go. "I should probably get back. Reports to write and all. And I've got to pick up some ribs for Tony in exchange for my couple of hours off, so—"

"Make sure you get to eat some too," Abby said. She then made a face. "And just the thought of ribs is making me nauseous so you might want to—"

"Ok," McGee said. "I'll see you when you get back. Thanks for the talk."

"I'm just glad to know we're ok. Bye, Tim." She gave him the quickest hug he'd ever had from her, then turned and ran. McGee left and headed for Tony's favorite barbecue place.

********************************

_There was a private belief among the agents that the one-way glass in the interrogation room was not just for protecting the identity of whoever else might be watching. Being in a room where the only window was a mirror gave the murderer the chance to look at themselves—really look—and maybe, if the interrogators were lucky, they would be able to see the monster that he—or she—had become._

Mariluz Guererra never took her eyes off the one-way glass. To get her to look at him, Tony had to sit right in front of her. Not that it did much good. Mariluz never actually answered his questions. Ziva stood in the observation room, watching and listening, in case Tony needed to know what Mariluz was saying. So far, nothing was noteworthy. All she did was say, sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, how much she hated the Catholic Church and what should happen to people who belonged to it. Her father was helping to keep the country enslaved to its idolatry. Her brother, however, was most to blame for pretending to have seen the light then turning back to the 'synagogue of Satan'. He deserved to die. A thought that was disturbingly familiar to Ziva.

After about an hour, Tony left and came into observation.

"Hey," he said to Ziva. "You doing ok? I mean, this is not what I would have picked for you to be doing on your first day back."

"I was needed here. I'm fine, Tony," was the reply. Tony looked through the glass at Mariluz and whistled.

"Man, she is a piece of work," he said. "She makes my top ten crazies list. What the hell makes people like that, anyway? It's not her religion; I know lots of people, Protestant and Catholic, who are great and never tried to murder their families." Like he was twisting the knife that was already embedded in her. "She's just sick. Sociopathic, even."

"What does that mean?" Ziva asked. "I've never heard that word."

"People who don't know right from wrong. They have no conscience. Hell, she probably _enjoyed_ killing her brother."

The thought crept over her like immersion in cold water. She recalled how she always felt when taking a life, the way her heart raced, sending adrenaline like lightening through her veins, how her breath quickened, the tiny shiver in the muscles of the finger that pulled the trigger, the sheer rush of power that came from sending a bullet racing toward her mark that would rip them away from the very thing they had been clinging to since the moment they took their first breath. Sometimes the high was almost overwhelming. That feeling of…pleasure. There was something she really liked about being an assassin. Any time she killed. And that meant…

Her stomach twisted and seemed to seize. It took all her will to keep what little she had eaten that day inside her. Blood rushed out of her face and her hands felt cold. With everything in her past, few things had been as horrifying as this realization, something she had always felt, but never brought into conscious awareness. She enjoyed the kill. _She_ had enjoyed killing Ari.

Tony happened to glance over, unaware of the crisis going on inside of her. He just saw her, pale and shaking, looking like she was about to pass out. He reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Don't touch me." She pulled away from him, looking defensive. Tony was experiencing some feelings right then relating to his relationship with Ziva; they were new and somewhat frightening in their strength and he wasn't sure what to do with them. And from the looks of things, Ziva didn't return them. All this to explain what he said next.

"Fine," he said, rather bitterly. "I'll leave you alone. I wouldn't want to get too close to you; I'd probably end up with a bullet in my head." He opened the door and left.

Earlier that morning, Gibbs had come to talk to her.

"How are you doing, Ziva?" he had asked, kindly and paternally. Ziva had not wanted to hear it.

"Just fine, Gibbs," she had replied.

"I'm not talking about your neck," he had said, leaning a little closer towards her and dropping his voice. "I know this case is probably a little too close for comfort."

"It does not bother me."

"The hell it doesn't," he had said. "You think you're just like her. Well, you're not. You took a life to save the hundreds of lives that would have been lost if you hadn't."

"I appreciate the motivational speech, Gibbs, but it is really not necessary," she had said. Gibbs lowered his voice even more.

"It had to be done, Ziva," he had said. "You know what Ari was capable of; he was not safe to be left alive."

"I don't need you to tell me that what I did was justifiable."

"Then tell yourself." He had given her that searching gaze and then walked away.

She knew he was right. But it had been too much; to be reminded of her sister in Mariluz only to be betrayed, and then come to find out how similar they were. Mariluz had probably believed that she was doing the right thing…right up to the moment when she strangled her brother to death with his own rosary. Ziva closed her eyes, sighed, then looked back into the interrogation room. The monster stared back at her.

******************************************

"That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Salome told Ziva. "To be honest, I was afraid you were going to put me back in that little white room." It was about a week after the attacks; the bruises and lacerations that both women had sustained were healing. Ziva's head still hurt occasionally and her hand was still in a splint, but her neck didn't cause people to stare at her on the street anymore. As Tony put it, she no longer looked like something out of a Halloween movie. Salome had come in to give her statement.

"We usually only put people in there if they are suspects or—well, while the case is still open."

"It's ok," Salome said. "I know I probably was a suspect then, sneaking around Martín's house and all. And I do appreciate your following up with me." They had gotten the report on the blood from the chaplet; it had been Salome's own, from a cut on her hand she had had some time before.

"How have you been doing?"

"Ok. We had Martín's funeral Mass on Thursday. Most of the church went and I'm getting a lot of support from my friends there. What about you? That must have been terrifying; you almost died!" Ziva smiled.

"It's hardly the first time anyone has tried to kill me because I am a Jew," she said. "I'm fine."

Salome started to talk about Israel and told her something about her family.

"My grandparents still live there," she said. "My mother and father and brothers and I moved back when things started getting really bad where we lived. My sister was still in the Army at the time; I never saw her again after we left."

"I'm sorry," Ziva said. "She was killed?" Salome looked down for a moment.

"No," she said. "She's in Virginia now, living with my parents. She just didn't get back before—"

"Oh," Ziva said. "I see." She knew that, when someone from an Orthodox Jewish family converts, it was as if they were dead. Salome probably hadn't spoken to them in years.

"Do you go back to Israel often?" Salome asked, changing the subject.

"Not often," Ziva replied. "I get so busy here that I don't really have time." And she had other reasons. She felt the knife twist a little deeper.

They talked for a little while longer, then both had to get back to work. Before she left, she told Ziva how good it was to be able talk about Israel and her past with someone who knew what she was talking about. More than she knew. Ziva smiled and said she was glad to be helpful and wished her well, then went back to her desk feeling miserable. The case had left her feeling tired and wounded. She wanted to go home, to all the sights, smells, feelings she remembered and be comforted by their familiarity. And be able to know, as she had with every other person she had killed, that she had done the right thing. But even if it had been…it was still unforgiveable. She could not even forgive herself for being what she was. And if she were to go back, they would see right through her. No, she couldn't go back. She started working on the paperwork for their new case, feeling Tony staring at her. She didn't look back at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

Weeks passed. Gibbs and Abby were both back, although a little distracted preparing for the birth of their child now that she was in her third trimester. Cases came and went. They started investigating the stabbing of a Navy officer in New York; Gibbs was out in the field with McGee and Ziva and Tony was left to handle things at NCIS headquarters. That day, he had gone down to talk to Abby about a DNA analysis that they had sent her.

"So how're things with you and Ziva?" Abby asked, once they had gotten past her initial conclusions about the sample. Tony looked surprised for a moment, then decided to answer.

"They aren't," he admitted. "We haven't really talked since that case in Virginia. And how did you know about me and Ziva?" Abby glared at him.

"I'm not an idiot, Tony. Even if I was, even an idiot would be able to tell what's going on between you two; God, Tony, no respect for my intelligence whatsoever."

"I'm sorry," Tony said quickly. "I didn't mean to insult you, Abby; I think you're brilliant."

"Ok, then," she said, brightening up. "You're forgiven. But, really, actually I only know for sure because one time Ziva was down here and accidentally let it slip that you had spent the night at her apartment," she added, going over to one of her 'babies' and pressing some buttons.

"Ok, fair enough," Tony said.

"Yeah, Ziva's seemed really depressed lately. Aren't you going to do anything to cheer her up?"

"Like what?" Tony said. The change in Ziva had not escaped him, but he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know if he could do anything at all. "What could I possibly do to cheer her up?"

Abby turned around and looked at him with a mischievous grin. "I could give you some hints," she said.

"And how do _you_ know what would cheer Ziva up? She's not your typical woman."

Abby smiled and posed. "I'm a pregnant woman, Tony; I know everything."

"Since when do pregnant women know everything?"

Abby looked surprised. "Tony," she said in an awed voice. "I've got a direct line to the cosmos growing in my uterus here! Don't you know that babies are born knowing the secrets of the universe? I'm trying to get him to tell me how bumblebees fly, but so far he hasn't been all that forthcoming. I think he takes after his father."

"Abby," Tony cut in. "I only have a certain amount of time before Gibbs comes back."

"Oh. Right. Ziva. Ok." Abby looked him in the eye. "Do you solemnly swear never to tell anything with a Y-chromosome what I have told you?"

"Abby…"

"C'mon, Tony! We can't have _every_ guy on the planet knowing how to deal with women; that makes it too easy! And plus—" She leaned closer, lowered her voice and shielded her mouth with one hand and her belly with the other. "I might get in trouble, you know. As his mother, I think only _I_ am supposed to know the secrets of the universe."

"Ok," Tony said. "I swear."

"Ok," Abby said. "Here's the first thing: do something nice for her."

"You mean like get her flowers or something?"

"I don't think Ziva's really the flower type." Abby said. "And you don't have to _get_ her anything. Just do something nice, something thoughtful."

"How about if I made her dinner?"

"Can you cook?"

"No, not really. When she came over, we usually just get Chinese."

"Well, did you pick it up yourself or did you have it delivered?" Abby asked.

"I always pick it up; it's only a couple of blocks from my house."

"And do you use chopsticks?"

Tony stared at her, puzzled. "Sometimes. I didn't know it was that important," he added, when she looked disapprovingly at him.

Abby then looked at him like he was an idiot. "Tony," she said. "It's _Chinese_. You eat Chinese with _chopsticks_. You don't have to be pregnant to know that. But aside from that, just do what comes to mind; in the moment, something will present itself. One of the nicest things Jethro ever did for me was—well, maybe we'd better not go into that. Don't worry. You'll think of something. Ok, second thing and this is crucial. I've seen lots of new relationships crumble and break on this principle. Don't have sex right away."

"Uh, Abby, we've sort of already broken that rule."

"Pretend like you didn't. Act like it's a whole new relationship. If you just want some cheap nothing relationship that you only have for a couple of weeks, then, yeah, go for it. But if you want something that will last, don't rush it. Yeah, yeah, I know; me and Gibbs conceived this little guy before we were technically even together—" She turned and gave Tony a searching look. "I knew what you were thinking, Tony. I know everything. But we're a special case; things tend to go better when you don't rush sex. Even better, let _her_ decide when you do it. Knowing Ziva, I don't think she'll keep you waiting long. Thirdly, listen to what she's saying and I don't mean with your ears." Abby paused, hands resting thoughtfully on her belly. "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if it turned out that all along the human race had been listening with, like, our toes or something and no one even noticed, just kept harping on about the ears…"

"Abby…"

"Yeah, right ok. What was I saying? Oh, right. Listening. Pay attention -- what am I saying?" She stuck out her bottom lip, slouched and made her voice monotone. "I'm fine, Tony. It's a beautiful morning. I'm so happy to be here."

"Abby, I can tell you're depressed. I could tell that Ziva was depressed before."

"You'd be surprised how many men downplay body language," Abby said. "But you're right; that was an easy one. How 'bout this." She sighed, made her face look quietly sad and walked around the lab table with an injured air. "No, Tony, it's totally cool with me if you skip our anniversary to go golfing in Portugal."

"Why am I golfing in Portugal? I don't even golf."

"Fine; waterskiing in Zimbabwe. That's not the point. The point is, what am I saying with my body?"

"You are actually very hurt and upset, even though you are telling me that you are fine."

"Excellent, Tony. A lot of times, a woman's body language says what she's _really_ thinking. You just have to learn to ignore her words and pay attention to everything else."

"Now the fourth thing kind of follows the third; if you absolutely _cannot_ figure out what a woman is thinking, remember this question; how do you feel?"

"How do you feel?" Tony repeated. Abby smiled.

"Well," she said. "I'm pretty happy right now, but I'm also feeling a little, oh, what's the word, whimsical today and we all know that being pregnant my mood can change at any moment so I could be seriously pissed off by the end of this sentence…"

"Please don't be. I didn't say anything wrong, did I?"

"All that to say," Abby continued. "When you do ask that question, you have to be prepared for anything. But as long as you ask sincerely and don't judge her feelings, that question can really get things moving. Ow!" she yelled, and grabbed her belly for a second. Then she shook her finger at it. "That is not nice, young man. That's not going to fly when you get out of there; Mommy or Daddy will spank your heiney, mister. Oh my God!" Abby suddenly stiffened, grabbed her belly and squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God," she said through clenched teeth. "Jackson, if you don't stop, you'll be so sorry…" After a few more seconds, she relaxed, caught her breath, then looked remorseful. "Oh, sweetie, Mommy didn't mean it, Mommy didn't mean it…" Tony had been watching this happen with a shocked, useless expression on his face. Now he ran to support Abby, who had sat down on a stool when the pain hit.

"Are you ok, Abby?" he asked. "I'm hardly the expert, but that's not supposed to happen, is it?"

Abby didn't seem to be listening; she was focused on something else.

"Tony?" she asked. "Were we laughing particularly hard a minute ago?"

"No," Tony said. "In fact, we weren't laughing at all."

"That's bad," Abby said, looking scared and paler even than usual. "Because, either I just wet my pants from laughing too hard…or my water just broke.

"That's definitely not supposed to happen," Tony said, beginning to panic.

"Be right back," Abby said, and ran to the bathroom.

A few minutes later she came running out, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

"Tony, c'mon; we've got to get to the hospital right now. Do you know how to drive the hearse?"

"Wait, what? We? _Huh?_" was all Tony could say. Abby gave him a look that was somewhere between scared and thinking he was an idiot.

"Tony," she said. "You've got to drive me, because if I drive myself, I could have a contraction and, like, run a red light or something."

"It works fine for Ziva!" Tony said. All the blood had drained from his face and his eyes were like golf balls. "I can't do this, Abby; I don't know anything about babies!"

"You don't have to deliver it," Abby said, exasperated. "You just have to drive me to Georgetown. This is serious, Tony; I'm still three months from my due date."

"What if Gibbs comes back while we're gone?"

"You have to call him on the way."

"And tell him what?" Tony asked, his eyes even wider. "Abby, I don't know what to do about this; I'm calling an ambulance."

"No, Tony! I don't want—" Another contraction hit her, causing her to groan and lean against the counter. "Okay, I give up. Call an ambulance; just make it snappy. I have to lie down." Holding her belly she walked to her office and carefully lowered herself onto the futon.

Tony made the call and was assured the ambulance would arrive in less than five minutes. He buzzed Ducky then hurried to Abby's side.

"Hold my hand, Tony," Abby murmured, her eyes squeezed tight against the pain. "And bring me Bert."

"Which? I can't do both!" Tony couldn't help a smirk.

She released his hand with a sigh, and he quickly retrieved the stuffed hippo. When he brought it back he noticed the wet spot on the blanket, but said nothing. He took her hand in his and almost immediately she squeezed, hard, for several seconds while a pained look crossed her face. "Tony, did you call Jethro?" she asked, panting a bit.

"Oh. Sorry. Not yet."

"Well, call him _now_. Tell him to get his ass down here as soon as he can or he's going to miss the birth of his son!"

At that moment Ducky entered the office, quickly assessing the situation. Tony gave him the hand-holding duty and stepped into the main lab, calling Gibbs.

"Tony, this is not—" Gibbs began as soon as he answered.

"Abby's water broke. She's having the baby."

Ziva, McGee, and Gibbs had been hurrying after a suspect when the phone rang, but at Tony's words Gibbs stopped and almost fell over, his gut twisting into painful knots. He had an intense urge to vomit. '_I'm going to lose them,'_ he thought. '_We're going to lose Jackson and I might lose Abby too. I can't take this again.'_

He shouted at Ziva and McGee to continue the pursuit. "Tony, I need a helo to pick me up at, uh—" He looked around for the nearest open space. Then he thought of a roof. He was in the alley next to the old Thanksgiving Tower; its flat roof would make a perfect landing pad. He gave Tony the address.

"On it, boss."

After making arrangements for the helicopter, Tony looked up to see that the EMT's had arrived and were helping Abby onto a stretcher. "Did you talk to Jethro?" Ducky asked him.

"Yeah, I sent a helo to pick him up. One advantage of working for the military."

Ducky smiled and nodded. "Yes, and it's a good thing, too. Poor Abigail is frightened out of her mind, and no one has ever been able to reassure her like Jethro."

"But who's going to reassure _him_?" Tony muttered. "What happened, Ducky?" he asked more loudly.

"I can't be sure; preterm labor has a number of causes. It could be anything from an infection to an incompetent cervix."

"A _what_? I don't even know what that is, Duckman, but surely there isn't anything incompetent about Abby."

"Ducky? Tony?" Abby wailed. "They won't let me take Bert. Tell them that I have to have Bert with me, at least, if I don't have Jethro!"

Dr. Mallard took one of the EMT's aside and spoke to him briefly; the man nodded in understanding. "Here you are, Ms. Sciuto."

"Oh, thank you, Ducky!" She smiled briefly before more pain caused her to frown instead.

"He's on his way," Tony told her, knowing what she must be thinking. "Helicopter. It won't take too long."

For a split-second, after hearing Gibbs shout that he was leaving, McGee considered leaving the pursuit himself. There was only one thing that he knew of that would take Gibbs away from chasing a suspect. Abby. Was she in trouble? She couldn't be having the baby; it was too early. Maybe he should go to her. Gibbs would fire him, of course, but this was Abby. That was reason enough for him.

But what could he do, once there? And when he wasn't the one whose hand Abby would want to hold? Gibbs should go and it was McGee's job to catch the suspect. Once that was over, he could go to Abby.

Ziva had been gaining on the man and was too far ahead at the time to even hear what Gibbs had said. McGee continued running, rounded a corner and then saw that Ziva was already in the process of handcuffing him. There seemed to have been a struggle; the man had a bloody nose, a scrape on the forehead and, from the way he was bent over and grimacing, serious doubts about his ability to father children in the future.

"Ziva," McGee said, as he approached them. "We've got a problem."

Ziva didn't answer; she began reciting the man's rights.

"Go to hell, crazy bitch," the man said. Seeing Ziva about to respond by pounding the man's head against a brick wall, McGee decided to step in and asked her to call for backup while he finished reading the rights—not that they would do him much good, as the three of them had just seen the man shoot another in the head.

"Where's Gibbs?" Ziva asked, after hanging up the phone. "I heard him say something, but I couldn't understand."

"He's leaving. Headed back to DC. I think something must have happened with Abby." His stomach did flip flops as he said those words. Then they both looked up; a helicopter soared into view, landed on a nearby building, then took off again.

"That was fast," Ziva said. "It must be something serious." As if that wasn't painfully obvious to the man beside her. "McGee, I know we are both worried, but we need to make sure this is finished first. Gibbs would want us to."

"I know," McGee replied. "And that's what we'll do." He sighed and hoped backup would come soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Upon arrival at the hospital Abby was immediately whisked to the high-risk area of labor & delivery, still clutching Bert. An examination confirmed cervical incompetence: her cervix had thinned and dilated to 6 cm, allowing the amniotic sac to protrude and break. They could not delay the delivery due to the risk of infection.

Abby tried not to cry but she knew this was very bad news for Jackson. "Is my baby going to live?" she asked Dr. Mason, the high-risk obstetrician on call. "He's way too early…"

Mason nodded. "Statistically, a 28-week infant has a 60% chance of survival. But – " she continued, before Abby burst into tears, " – the ultrasound shows he's bigger than normal for 28 weeks, and birth weight usually correlates with maturity. And you're healthy, you've had no problems with the rest of the pregnancy. I'd say that raises his chances to at least 75%."

Abby tried to smile – 75% was better than 60% -- but she couldn't stop thinking about the other 25%. What if Jackson died? What would happen to her and Gibbs? Would he run away again, unable to face the pain? Would he leave her once their son was gone?

Thankfully Ducky's voice just outside the room interrupted the terrible thoughts going through her mind. "May we visit Ms. Sciuto? Her 'significant other' is on his way, but it will be awhile before he arrives."

"Yes, of course," the nurse replied with a smile. "Support from friends is very important for her right now. Go on in." He pointed in the direction of her door.

Moments later Tony walked in. "How ya doin', Abby?" he asked with his most cheerful expression.

"Better now that y'all are here," she answered, slipping a bit into her childhood south Louisiana accent. "Where's Ducky?"

"He wanted to talk to the doctor." Tony eyed the monitor wrapped around Abby's belly, and listened to the soft beeping. "Is the little guy gonna be okay?"

"I don't know, Tony. The doctor says his chances are only about 75%."

"Well, that's not so bad, is it?" Tony patted her hand.

"It's still leaves a one in four chance that he'll die, Tony."

She scrunched up her face, moaning as a contraction hit. When it was over there were tears running down her cheeks. "Jethro will never forgive me," she cried.

"It's not your fault, Abby," Tony tried to soothe her, but the cries turned into wails and they weren't from the contractions. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and Tony noticed that her blood pressure on the monitor was increasing. He ran to the door just as an alarm went off.

"Help! There's something wrong!" he shouted.

Several nurses rushed into the room, followed by Dr. Mason and Ducky. "02 is 90 and falling. Administering oxygen."

"What happened, Anthony?" asked Ducky.

"She was upset. She's worried about what Gibbs will do if the baby doesn't make it."

"I hope he gets here soon," Ducky murmured.

"I believe she simply had a panic attack," the doctor told them a few minutes later. "I'd rather not give her a sedative, under the circumstances. Could you gentlemen stay with her, try to keep her calm as much as possible?"

"Certainly."

"Of course."

Ducky pulled up a chair beside the bed. "It's all right, Abigail. Don't worry now. Everything will be okay, no matter what."

"Did you talk to the doctor? What did she say?"

"She said all should go well if you remain calm."

Abby relaxed visibly. Tony sat on the side of the bed and held her hand as best he could considering there was an IV attached to it. "McGee is going to hate that he missed this," he told her, smiling.

She chuckled a bit. "Yeah, he'll have to rely on hearsay if he wants to put it in his book."

The normal cruising speed of a helicopter is 130-150 mph. Military helicopters often travel a bit faster, about 170. Within five minutes of beginning the flight, Gibbs had coaxed the pilot to push it to 200. The desperate look in his eyes probably helped.

It is approximately 227 miles from NYC to DC. That gave Gibbs over an hour to imagine losing his family yet again -- over an hour of pure hell. Finally they were over DC. The pilot contacted Georgetown University hospital for permission to land on their helipad.

"We don't allow unscheduled nonmedical flights," was the reply.

"Dammit, Lance Corporal, land this bird on that pad or I'll make sure your military career is over. Rule Number 18: It's better to ask forgiveness than to seek permission."

Lance Corporal Olsen hesitated. On the one hand the hospital had refused… on the other hand, his orders were to follow Special Agent Gibbs' instructions. "Landing, sir."

They barely touched down before Gibbs threw his door open and ran towards the entrance. "Thanks!" he called behind him.

The contractions were coming every 90 seconds now and lasting almost a minute, leaving Abby little time to recover in between. Since neither Ducky nor Tony knew the breathing techniques, she was coached by a nurse midwife named Brenda.

"I've only – been – to one class," Abby gasped out.

"Breathe, don't talk. Watch my fingers. Slow breath. Inhale one, two, three, four…" She was surprised to see Abby shaking her head as she inhaled. "What is it?"

"Not right -- like this," and she signed 'one, two, three, four' in ASL.

"Oh, you sign!" said Brenda with delight, just as another contraction began. "Breathe through it Abby! You can do this. Jackson needs plenty of oxygen. Now exhale slowly… one, two, three, four, five," this time she used ASL, having coached many deaf mothers.

Gibbs ran down the hallway towards L&D, after grabbing the first person in scrubs he could find to get directions. Once he reached the area, he accosted a nurse. "Abby Sciuto, where is she?"

"Who are you?"

"The father!" he almost shouted.

"Her father?"

Gibbs barely bit back the retort (and the punch) he wanted to throw at the woman. Instead, he took a deep breath. "No, I'm the _baby's_ father." He ignored the strange look the nurse gave him.

"This way," she said.

Abby was trying to recover during the short time she had between contractions when she heard a familiar voice in the distance. "Jethro!" she squealed, almost jumping up from the bed.

They were halfway to the room when he heard his name. He immediately traced the source, pushing past the nurse and running towards the voice that owned his heart. "Abby!" he called.

"Jethro!" she yelled again, followed by a wail when the next contraction came a little too soon.

In seconds he was at her side. "Abby, I'm so glad I got here in time." He leaned over and kissed her sweat-covered forehead. Brenda handed him a cool wet washcloth and he began to bathe Abby's face with it. "How close?"

Another nurse, who had followed him into the room, said as she watched the fetal monitor, "Brenda – late decelerations –"

"What does that mean?" asked Gibbs, just as an alarm sounded.

"Baby's heart rate is way down."

"Call Dr. Mason!" Fortunately the obstetrician was nearby, and appeared quickly. One glance at Abby's ashen face and Gibbs' panicked one told her there was a problem.

"Blood pressure's dropping fast," said Brenda. "Looks like an abruption."

"Internal bleeding. Let's get her to an OR." The room suddenly became crowded and busy and Gibbs found himself being pushed further and further away from his family. "What's happening?" he shouted to Dr. Mason.

She gave a few more orders before answering him as the nurses were wheeling Abby away. "I believe the placenta is partially detached and she's bleeding heavily. The baby is in distress. We have to deliver right now and stop the bleeding."

"I want to be there. I have to be there, doctor." Before she could say no, he added, "I don't have time to explain. Please, let me be there, just in case something happens."

"All right," she agreed. "Come with me to scrub in."

The next few minutes were a blur of activity; Gibbs was barely aware that his hands were thrust under hot water; he scrubbed automatically, then his hands were dried and someone helped him don gloves and gown and mask. He followed Dr. Mason, his eyes searching for Abby and finally finding her on the operating table, already under anesthesia. From where Gibbs stood she looked dead, but the steady beeping of her heart monitor reassured him otherwise.

There were people in gowns and scrubs everywhere. Several crowded around Abby, while another group stood near a smaller table and a lot of equipment.

Dr. Mason was handed a scalpel and she quickly made an incision; Gibbs tried to see but someone obscured his view at the crucial moment. Seconds later the doctor extracted – well, he assumed it was the baby but it didn't look anything like Kelly as a newborn. Jackson was quickly handed over to the other group and laid on the warming table. He looked like a doll lying there limply, not crying, not moving.

Gibbs didn't know which way to look; the doctors were fighting to stop Abby's bleeding, while the neonatologist worked to get Jackson breathing. Gibbs felt lost in that frightening world of helplessness – there was nothing he could do but watch as his family fought for life. _'At least I'm here',_ he thought, _'for what it's worth'_.

The minutes passed like the slow progress of a glacier; Jackson finally began to move a bit and his color improved. He even let out a tiny cry before a mask was placed over his face; Gibbs assumed it was oxygen. He tried to hear Dr. Mason's words over the bustle and the beeping of the monitors.

As soon as Jackson was stabilized, he was taken away to the NICU. Gibbs was torn – should he stay while Abby's surgery was completed, or leave to check on Jackson? A nurse noticed his confused expression and took pity on him. "She's out of danger, sir; we're just finishing up. She'll be in the OB PACU after you visit your son."

"The what?"

"The recovery room on this unit." Her eyes smiled and she pointed him back through the door that led back to the Labor and Delivery Unit and told him to ask at the nurse's station for directions to NICU. He took the cue and headed out of the OR, glancing back at Abby's still form and praying that all would go well in his absence. He stopped briefly to remove the gown and mask, then went to the nurse's station.

He followed the nurse's directions to the NICU and knocked on the door. A nurse opened the door slightly, and Gibbs said, "I came to see the Sciuto baby…" He could barely glimpse a row of incubators and a group of doctors and nurses crowded around one of them.

One of the doctors glanced up, then stripped off his gloves and came to the door. "I'm Dr. Sanders, one of the neonatologists. Are you the baby's father?"

Gibbs nodded. "Can I see him?"

"Yes; you'll need to put on a gown and mask." Gibbs did so then followed the doctor, pleased to see that his son was moving more and appeared more pink than he had in the OR.

"How is he?"

"He's doing well for his age. He's having some difficulty breathing and we have him on oxygen and continuous positive airway pressure to keep his lungs open. Otherwise he seems well-developed for being only 28 weeks. We're running tests to be sure." The doctor smiled. "The next 24 hours are critical, of course, but if no new problems arise, the prognosis is excellent."

Gibbs sighed with relief. "Thank you, Dr. Sanders." A touch on his shoulder startled him and he turned quickly. "Ducky!"

"Jethro, you have a beautiful child." Ducky hugged his friend tightly.

"He takes after his mother," Gibbs replied gruffly, trying to hide the tears coming into his eyes.

Tony was standing guard in the OR waiting room, waiting anxiously for information on Abby. Finally Dr. Mason came out and to Tony's relief, she was wearing a smile. "We stopped the bleeding and she's resting comfortably. Would you like to see her?"

Tony grinned. "I'd love to, but if I see her before Gibbs does, I'll end up with a very bad headache."

"You'd get worse than that, DiNozzo; I'd kick your ass," said Gibbs, walking down the hall towards them. The grin on his face showed it was an idle threat. "Go see my son," he told Tony. "I want to see Abby."

He sat beside her, watching her face as she slowly came out of the anesthesia. She blinked several times then opened her eyes fully, licking her dry lips and trying to make sense of the shapes around her. "Where am I?" she asked thickly, her tongue seemingly uncooperative.

He squeezed her hand. "You're in the recovery room, Abby," he said softly. "Jackson is doing fine," he added, anticipating her next question.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes and for several moments seemed to be asleep again. When she opened them once more, her vision was clearer. "Jethro," she murmured, "I'm so sorry."

He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, his fingers brushing over her tangled hair. "Nothing to be sorry about, Abbs. You didn't cause this. And Jackson is okay, in fact he's doing well for his age."

"He is?" For a moment her face lit up in the smile he loved so much, then she relaxed into an expression of blissful peace. "I love you, Gunny."

He was startled at her use of his former rank; she had never done that before and it both thrilled and saddened him. He didn't know why he would feel sad, but it didn't really matter anyway. The important thing was that his family was safe.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I love you too, angel. Now rest."


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

A/N2: Erin wrote this chapter. I'm still packing ;-).

For the first time in the years that he had known her, McGee asked Ziva to drive back from the airport. The murderer had gotten to DC an hour before they even left the airport—the flight had been delayed three hours—and, although McGee tried at least twenty times, neither Tony nor Gibbs was answering their phones.

"This is bad." McGee said. "I don't understand why I can't reach them; we should have heard something by now." Ziva swerved abruptly between lanes, then swerved again to get ahead of the two SUVs that had been going only ten miles over the speed limit. They both honked at her. McGee dropped his phone when the car lurched back into the lane it had been in.

"McGee, it is the middle of the night," Ziva said. "They probably have their phones off so they can sleep; you don't know if Tony is even still there."

"It's almost 0400 and they have a new baby; they can't have been sleeping the whole time." Unless there was no baby. Unless there was no _Abby_ and Tony and Gibbs wouldn't answer because they didn't want to tell them.

"Try to relax," Ziva said. "We will be there soon." McGee looked at her; her hands were white as she gripped the steering wheel and she never took her eyes off the road. They turned off the highway toward Georgetown and instead of slowing down on the exit ramp, she hit the gas pedal even harder.

When they got there, McGee jumped out and charged toward the entrance. Ziva calmly grabbed the back of his jacket and held him back.

"McGee," she said to him. "Being in a hurry is not going to change what has happened. Try to stay calm and no matter what the outcome is, you will be better equipped to handle it."

McGee could barely handle his own nerves. "Ok," he said and took a deep breath, then followed Ziva toward the entrance. They showed their badges to the security guard and he let them in when they explained that they had a colleague who was a patient there. Eventually they found their way up to the obstetrics unit; they walked to the nurse's station and saw Tony. He had a pink stethoscope in his ears and was listening to the chest of a young, blond nurse.

"Oh, yeah, I hear it now, Lindsey," he said. "Such a beautiful sound. Of course—" he grinned at her and winked, "—how else could it sound on such a beautiful girl?"

Ziva came up behind him and cleared her throat. "Tony, I am no expert but I was always led to believe that the heart was on the _left_ side of the chest."

"Oh, hey, guys," he said, taking off the stethoscope. "What took you so long?"

"You would know if you ever answered your phone!" McGee said. "Now, where's Abby? How is she?"

"Calm down, McGoogle; she's fine. Baby's in the NICU, but he's fine. Abby's ok, but she's exhausted and had a lot of pain so we turned off the phones so she could get some sleep."

"And why are you still here?" McGee asked.

"They're having the baby baptized in the morning and I was hoping I might get to be—" he squinted his eyes, made a face and talked with an Italian accent "the—"

"Godfather," McGee and Ziva finished for him. "Somehow I doubt it," Ziva added. "Where are they?"

"433." McGee went off down the hall. Ziva moved to follow him, but Tony held her back.

"You doing ok?" he asked her. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked worn out.

"I've been up all night waiting on a three-hour delayed flight. I imagine you would not look your best in the same situation. Now do you mind? I would like to go see Abby." She gave him a look and walked away.

"Ex-girlfriend?" Lindsey asked him.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, no girlfriend would let you get away with listening to another woman's chest, but the way you look at her, not to mention the way she looks at you—"

"Really?" Tony stared after her. Lindsey smiled at him.

"Maybe not so ex," she said and handed him the popsicle he had come out to the nurses station to ask for.

McGee ran into room 433 and was stopped by a look from Gibbs before he had a chance to say a word. Abby was curled up on the bed clinging to Gibbs' hand. He pulled his hand out of her grasp; she moaned a little and rolled over but didn't wake up. Gibbs brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead, then gestured for McGee to go out into the hallway. Ziva joined them as he closed the door.

"How is she?" McGee asked.

"Better," Gibbs said. In the light of the hallway, they could see how drained he looked. He explained to them everything that had happened in the past 24 hours. He had been through stressful times before, where time seemed to stretch, but this time it just didn't seem like so much could have happened in so short a time. Abby—and then Jackson—had been dying. Even though now he knew they were alive, they had come so close. How could he have lived if he had lost them? And Jackson wasn't out of the woods yet; they were having some problems getting him to tolerate feedings. But they were alive. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

Abby was knocked out on painkillers and the priest wouldn't be there to baptize Jackson until 0730, so McGee and Ziva went out to the waiting room and slept on the chairs for a couple of hours. When Tony shook them awake, light was streaming in the windows. Abby was there in a wheelchair, looking drowsy, but smiling at them. She hugged them both. McGee held onto her just a little longer than was absolutely necessary. He was a little embarrassed at how relieved he felt that she was ok.

"Good to see you, Abs," he said.

"You too, Tim. I'm surprised you got back so soon; did you catch the guy?"

"Yep. And we headed back here as soon as we could. We didn't want to miss this."

"Wait till you see my baby," Abby said. "He's wonderful, Tim." She smiled at Gibbs. "I am happier than any other person on this earth right now."

The priest was already waiting for them in the NICU, as were Ducky and Director Shepard. Tony looked a little unhappy when he found out that Ducky, not him, would be the baby's godfather, but he didn't say anything. Director Shepard never looked at Abby, or Gibbs, really. She watched the baptism with a strange look on her face. A nurse helped Gibbs pick up Jackson with all his IVs and the CPAP tubing and he placed him in Abby's arms, then knelt beside her, holding the baby's head. Ducky stood beside her and placed his hand on Jackson, as the priest told him to do.

The Rite was done in shortened form; though it was not explicitly mentioned, Jackson was being baptized in this setting simply because there was a (small) chance that he might not make it out of the NICU. If he did, there would be a more formal event. For this, the priest held a basin under Jackson's head and poured. "Jackson Sciuto Gibbs, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." Abby smiled and beamed at Gibbs, who smiled back. The priest then took oil and made the Sign of the Cross on the baby's head. McGee tried not to look at the baby. He didn't really look like one; he was small and floppy and out of proportion and too red. Still, he liked the baby for Abby's sake. Abby was so happy holding him and he watched her most of the time.

"Why the oil?" Ziva whispered to McGee.

"I think it has something to do with how back in biblical times they used to use oil to seal contracts and things like that. But I'm not Catholic, so I don't know."

"I have never seen a baptism before. Do I have to sign that I witnessed it or anything?"

"No, baptisms don't work like that. Just weddings."

"Think they'll get married?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he replied. "They probably have enough to worry about right now."

"Can you imagine her wedding dress?" He could. Not black, maybe antique white; probably vintage, with ruffles and ribbons. Walking down the aisle with a bouquet of red roses. The baptism was over quickly. The priest congratulated Abby and Gibbs and gave them a candle for Jackson. Abby didn't want to let Jackson go; the nurse gave her a few minutes to touch him and hold him.

"He's doing better with the new feedings we've got him on," the nurse said. "He should be fat and healthy in no time." She took the baby from Abby and put him back under the warmer. She kept her hand in with him and touched his tiny arm. The team congratulated and hugged both of them. It was hard to know what to say. Any time they tried to say something comforting, Gibbs gave them a funny look. They assumed that he didn't want them to get Abby too convinced that everything would be ok.

"Feeling ok, Abs?" Gibbs asked her. She was grimacing occasionally and holding her abdomen.

"I think I need some more pain meds," she said.

"Let's get you back to your room," he said.

"Just a few more minutes?" she pleaded. "Then I'll go back. Please, Jethro? I don't want to leave him alone."

"You can do whatever you want, Abs," he told her, with a kiss on the cheek. "I just don't want to see you in pain."

"I'm ok. Labor was way worse than this. I just—I don't want to leave. I could sit here and watch him breathe. I love him so much. I didn't know I could feel so much for someone this little. Jethro—what if he—"

"Don't say it, Abs. Don't even think about it. I know. It hurts too much for you to even think it. Just think about him. Look, I think he's got your mouth."

"He's got your nose. And your chin." Her finger stroked the tiny face. "Ok, I think I can go back now."

The others went with them back to the Obstetrics Unit, but started to leave soon after. Everyone was tired and needed sleep. The Director was going back to work. She was kind to Abby, but gave Gibbs a look that bordered on cold.

"Congratulations, Jethro," she said.

"Thanks, Jen," he replied, with a knowing look, then turned back to Abby. She had just had a shot of medication and was dozing off. The Director paused to watch him kiss her as she fell asleep, then left the room.

McGee was usually not one for drowning his sorrows in alcohol. A typewriter was generally all he needed. He had slept for the rest of the day after Ziva dropped him off at his apartment, but he woke up in the evening feeling so bad that he felt that he needed a drink. He walked to a bar not far from his apartment so he wouldn't have to drive and sat down, wondering why he felt so horrible. Abby and the baby were ok, and he was supposed to be forgetting her. It was that part that wasn't working out so well. He had a drink or two and was starting to feel their effects when he noticed a woman at the other end of the bar looking at him—an attractive redhead. He smiled at her, then started to panic. He hadn't realized that it was Director Shepard. He stared at the shelves of alcohol in front of him, hoping that she hadn't noticed him. That hope was dashed when he heard the clicking of three-inch heels coming toward him and she sat down on the stool beside him.

"Agent McGee," she said. "Didn't expect to see you here." He glanced at her and realized with some alarm that she was obviously drunk. Her movements were slow and uncontrolled and her speech was just slightly slurred.

"Uh—good—good evening, ma'am—Director Shepard," he said. "I—uh, I was just leaving."

"Oh, c'mon, McGee, stay for awhile. Another one for him, on me," she said to the bartender, who nodded and got McGee another drink. He sipped it slowly, still avoiding the Director's eye. She drained her glass in under a minute.

"Not much of a drinker, are you?" she asked McGee. "I wasn't, before I met Jethro. Hasn't rubbed off on you, huh?"

"No, uh—not really, I guess—uh, I do appreciate the drink, ma'am—uh, Director—but, I should really go…"

"Sit down, McGee," she said. McGee wasn't going to disobey a direct order—even if she was drunk. He sat and they drank in silence, McGee in fear of what she was going to say next.

"I don't understand what the big deal is," she said. "You carry someone around for nine months, you feed 'em, you clothe 'em, you send 'em to college and what do you get? They blame you for all their problems and ask you for money once a month. What's so great about that?"

"You don't like kids?"

"Not that I don't like them, you know; I just—never wanted them as bad as some people. I know we're both here for the same reason, McGee. You want Abby back and he took her from you. I don't blame you for being pissed off—I am."

"That he chose Abby instead of you?" McGee figured that since he was trapped here and neither would probably remember what happened, he would say whatever he wanted. Shepard started to giggle.

"It's unbelievable, isn't it?" she said. "I mean, the goth girl from the lab! At least fifteen years younger than him! And what we had was beautiful—oh, just wonderful. He was the most amazing agent I had ever seen and even more amazing in—"

"Ok, that part I really don't need to know about," McGee said, still sober enough to realize what she was about to say. Shepard continued to giggle.

"Oh, the old bastard," she said. "Strong, sexy, damn good-looking, but still a bastard."

"Hey," McGee said. "Don't call Gibbs a—"

"Don't you _hate_ him sometimes, McGee?" she asked. "All the headslaps, all those stupid rules. 'Never say you're sorry; it's a sign of weakness." She imitated Gibbs' voice. "Good to know he's finally broken that one."

"What do you mean? I've never heard Gibbs apologize for anything."

"Well, to Abby, obviously. And to everyone else who wanted to pound his ass into dust for what he did."

"I'm not following." Shepard grinned at him.

"Oh, that's _right_," she said. "You guys don't know."

"We don't know what?"

"What _really_ happened that night in Gibbs' basement," Shepard said, with a conspiratorial smile on her face.

"Did Gibbs do something to her?" McGee demanded. There were thoughts forming that he was trying to stop; Gibbs couldn't—

"Didn't you ever wonder why they didn't get together until _after_ she got pregnant? Why Ducky barely spoke to him for a month? But of course, Abby wouldn't want me to tell you," she said. "Said that Jethro feels bad enough already and no one else needed to know that he raped her."

McGee sat there and stared. He figured that he must be pretty drunk for him to have thought that he heard the director say that. Or she was so drunk that she was making up whatever she wanted to have happened. Gibbs would never do something like that.

"He raped her, McGee," Shepard said. "I may be drunk, but I'm not so drunk I would just say something like that. He had had too much bourbon; he was upset, she was there, she told him 'no', but it still happened. I just hope the kid never finds out about the circumstances of his conception or there will be a whole new category of father issues out there."

"And she's still with him?"

"Some bullshit about 'meaning yes even though she said no,'" Shepard answered. "She still loved him and wanted to have his baby even though he used her and treated her like crap. God, what does the man have to do to make people hate him?"

"But—Gibbs—"

"Is not perfect," she finished for him. "You know it, I know it; I'm just not sure that Abby knows it. She'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her. I don't know; maybe it would be better for her if she never realizes what he really is. He may seem like this romantic, noble gentleman, but he is so rigid—if you aren't _exactly_ what he wants," she took another drink. "It'll end and he'll throw you aside. Like it never even existed. And once you see that side of him—" She shook her head. "It's never the same. People treat him like he's God when you know what he is, deep down. Just a bastard, like the rest of us." She laid her head down on the bar and closed her eyes.

"Director, I think maybe it's time you went home," McGee said.

"Sure," she murmured. She sat up, rummaged in her purse and paid the bartender. McGee paid his own bill, then went out, got her a cab and made sure she got into it.

"Don't tell him," she whispered, as she was getting into the cab. "They wouldn't want you to know."

"Don't worry, I won't tell him that you told me," McGee said. He wasn't lying. He wasn't going to bring up the Director; when he confronted Gibbs, it would be all him. He got another cab for himself and they drove toward Georgetown.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

A/N2: Erin wrote this chapter. I'm still packing ;-).

Tony paced the hallway outside Ziva's apartment for a little while wondering if he should knock. He hadn't been able to sleep much for thinking about her. Of course, _she_ could be still sleeping—and then come out and kick his ass for waking her up. Or she could just reject him completely. He thought about what Abby had told him; would it really work? More importantly would it work on Ziva, who didn't seem to want anything to do with him and would likely throw him out of her apartment? Still, he had to at least try. Something was obviously wrong. She hadn't been herself since the Guererra case. He had wondered at first if it was just the shock from having come so close to death, but then he remembered that this was _Ziva._ So what else could have hit her so hard that she couldn't seem to handle it? It was as if she was hiding inside herself; she went about her work with no expression and few words. Her only response to his attempts at their usual playful banter had been to tell him to get back to work and stop acting so juvenile. That was not the Ziva he knew and was now feeling—something—for. He wanted her back, and as more than just friends, even friends with benefits. But what would he say to her? It sounded ridiculous to tell someone who was standing in front of you that you missed them. And how was he supposed to get her to tell him what was wrong? He had no idea. Still, he had to try. Before he could stop himself, he ran the couple of steps to her door and knocked.

Ziva was in her kitchen, pounding with a rolling pin on some chicken breasts under a layer of plastic wrap to tenderize them. She was planning to make something to take to Abby and Gibbs; she had heard that it was an American tradition to take some sort of food to anyone who had been in the hospital for more than a day. Also, it was nice just to get to pound on something. She heard a knock at the door and sighed with irritation; it was probably her neighbors come to ask her to stop making so much noise while they were watching television. She would never understand the cultural fascination with TV. Just to strengthen her position, she took the rolling pin with her to answer the door.

When she opened the door, she saw Tony; this caught her off guard for a moment. By the time he smiled at her, she was back to being annoyed.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "I thought I told you not to come to my apartment again."

"I wanted to see you," was all he could think of to say.

"You saw me already today at the hospital. Was there some reason you wanted to see me, because this is starting to sound suspiciously like a—what did you call it, booty call? And I believe I made myself clear that I am not interested."

"I'm not here for sex," Tony said. "I just—wanted to talk."

"Can't this wait until Monday? I'm kind of busy."

"Cooking?"

"Yes. I am making a dish to take to Abby and Gibbs when they get out of the hospital."

"Need some help?" It was the only thing he could think of to say that didn't end with her shutting the door in his face. And, he remembered, this technically fulfilled Rule number one; do something nice. _What am I doing? _he asked himself. _Abby, I hope you know what you're talking about_. Ziva gave him a dubious look.

"_You're_ offering to help me cook?" she said. "Tony, you don't even know how."

"You don't know that." Ziva gave him a look. "Ok, it's true. But I'm sure there's something I can do."

"Like what?"

"Anything you want. Just tell me what do." He tried to smile confidently. "I swear I won't even look in the direction of your bedroom."

Still looking doubtful, Ziva moved away from the door. Tony came inside and followed her to the kitchen where she got a cutting board and a knife out of a cabinet and took a basket of onions from the top of the refrigerator.

"Slice the ends off," she told him. "Peel it, then cut it in half lengthwise and cut out wedges about this big." She held her thumb and forefinger about a half an inch apart. Then she turned around and resumed pounding the chicken. Tony managed to cut one in half the wrong way and another in wedges that were too small before his eyes started watering so much that he couldn't see what he was doing and cut his own finger.

"Ow!" He hissed with pain and put his finger in his mouth. The juice from the onions had seeped in and made it sting like crazy. Ziva put down her rolling pin, took his hand out of his mouth and pulled him over to the sink where she started to rinse his hand off.

"Do you have any idea how many bacteria live in the human mouth?" she asked him. "You could lose a finger." Tony chuckled.

"Knew you couldn't keep your hands off me," he said. He realized his mistake when Ziva glared at him. She let go of his hand and handed him a tissue.

"Open the freezer and put your head in," she said. Tony looked puzzled.

"Did you get your insults confused again, because I can't figure that one out," he said.

"No, it's for the onion fumes. Put your head in the freezer and your eyes will stop watering." Tony did what she told him and within a few seconds, his eyes didn't sting anymore.

"Cool trick," he said. "What are you making?" She returned from the bathroom where she had gotten him a bandaid from the medicine cabinet.

"Chicken with lemon and rosemary," she replied simply. She placed the chicken in a pan on the stove. Tony went back to the onions, moving back and forth from the freezer a few times. When the chicken was cooked, she poured broth into the pan, then put in the onions, juiced a few lemons and got the rosemary, which turned out to be a spiky looking herb that she pulled the leaves off of and mixed in.

"Smells good," Tony said.

"Thank you," Ziva replied without emotion. "And thank you for your help." She stirred the pan. Tony watched her. Rule number one didn't seem to have gotten him anywhere. Rule number two wasn't even close to a possibility. Rule number three…he studied her for a moment. She was still closed off. Holding herself back. So she _did_ want to be with him? If she didn't, wouldn't she just say so and tell him to go away again? Her shoulders were drooping; she blinked hard and the dark circles were still there.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked her.

"No, I did not," she said. She looked at him staring at her. "I keep telling you; I am fine."

"No you're not," he said. "You haven't been the same lately. Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"You've been depressed since the Guererra case. Did something happen?" Ziva didn't answer him for a moment.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I said I was fine."

"No, you just said that it doesn't matter. Which means something _did_ happen. Ziva, you almost died; I wouldn't blame you if you were still a little freaked out." Ziva chuckled a little.

"If I got 'freaked out' every time someone tried to kill me, I would have gone insane by now, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but…there was something different about this one, wasn't there? You liked Mariluz; you got attached. And she betrayed you." Ziva stirred a little slower; her mind was somewhere else. "Am I getting warm?" he asked. Ziva still didn't answer him. "Ziva, I'm trying to help you."

"I do not want or need your help," Ziva said, icily. "Why are you still here, Tony?" Tony was starting to get frustrated. Why couldn't she just talk to him? He had never wanted a woman so much who seemed so determined not to let him near her. And he couldn't figure out how to reach her. Time for Rule number four.

"Ziva, how do you feel?" he asked. She was surprised enough by this question to turn and look at him.

"Ok," she said. "I'm a little tired, obviously, but I'm alright."

"No, I mean like, you know, emotionally, how do you feel?" She was still looking at him like she did when he used an English phrase she didn't understand. "What? Has no one ever asked you that before?"

"Of course they have," she said. "I have—feelings."

"I know. I want to know what they are."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I won't know unless you tell me."

"Tony, you are acting strange. Are _you_ ok?" Tony sighed and thought a minute about what he should say.

"Ok, so we were just having sex before. Good sex; I'm not complaining about the sex or anything. But I want more. I want all of you." Ziva crossed her arms and looked defensive. He kept going. "Look, you're crazy. You're crazy and triggerhappy and you can't seem to grasp the concept of contractions or American football and—I don't know why the hell I'm telling you this. I've never said this to a girl. But I want all that. When I come into work in the morning, I can't wait to talk to you. I want that all the time. I—I need that. I've been going crazy this whole time when you won't talk to me." He took a minute to breathe. "I don't know what I can say or do to convince you that I feel something for you, but please believe me. Tell me what's going on."

During this speech, Ziva's expression changed. Her eyes dropped and looked to the side and she swallowed hard. When he stopped talking, she continued to look at the floor for a moment in silence. Then she spoke; her voice didn't sound like what he knew as Ziva.

"Tony, I don't know what's going on with you, but—you've got it all wrong. I am all those things that you said, but you only know that one side of me, what I allow you to see. You don't know what you are asking for in a relationship with me."

"I think I know you well enough to know that I want you."

"But you don't!" she burst. "You have seen me kill, torture even, but did you know that I _like _it? That even during the most basic interrogation, I have to hold myself back because what I really want to do is make them beg for mercy and then put a bullet through them? That I could—" her voice began to choke "take _pleasure_ from the death of my own flesh and blood? You do not want me, Tony. I am—your word, sociopathic. I am sorry. But you are better off without me." Then she was gone. He heard her door slam and then the sobs and cries in Hebrew began.

"Well, that went well," he said to himself. "Nice work, DiNozzo; you try to tell a girl you care about her and you manage to make her cry." He thought about going to comfort her—then thought better of it. As much as he cared about her, he had never felt completely safe around her and trying to talk to an emotionally distraught Ziva…he should probably wait for her to calm down. The chicken appeared to be done, so he turned the burner off and went and sat down to wait.

He ended up waiting for over an hour in her living room, wishing that she had a TV. Ziva's crying was truly of diluvian proportions—loud, tempestuous and with the sound of something being broken every so often. He wondered what Israeli funerals were like if this was the norm. But it gave him time to think about what she had said. He had been talking about Mariluz when he mentioned the sociopaths. Surely Ziva didn't think she was anything like Mariluz. She was a little crazy, but not crazy like her. And what was that about her 'own flesh and blood'? Had she killed someone in her family? No wonder she was upset.

Eventually she came out and wandered into the living room. She jumped when she saw Tony.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him. Tony gave her an odd look.

"I've been here," he told her. "I got here a couple of hours ago. You remember, right?"

"Of course I remember," she said. "I'm just surprised that you are still here. I thought you had left."

"I didn't want to leave," he said. "You ok? Need some water or something?" After opening two wrong cabinets, he found the cups, got her a glass of water and brought it to her. She took a sip, then sat down and set it on the end table.

"You should go, Tony," she said.

"I'm not leaving until I know you're ok. That was pretty intense there; I'm worried about you." She leaned on her knees and pressed her forehead into her hands.

"Am I going to have to hold a gun to your head?" she asked. "I explained to you; I am not relationship material. There's something wrong with me."

"Ziva, you're not a sociopath. Do you even know what that means?"

"You said that it means someone who has no conscience and enjoys killing people—even those close to them. And I have." Tony didn't really want to approach the subject, but he felt that he had to.

"You killed someone you cared about?" he asked gently. "Someone in your family?" Ziva nodded.

"I liked it as much as I had liked any other time I killed," she said. "I am no better than Mariluz."

"Yes, you are. Of course you are. She can't even compare with you."

"I killed my brother too," she said, finally lifting her head to look at him. "I shot him. In Gibbs' basement." Tony stared at her, trying to put the pieces together in his head.

"In Gibbs' basement?" he repeated. "You mean Ari? He was your _brother_?"

"My half-brother," she said, with a sniffle. "I heard him talking to Gibbs and—I knew he had to die. I guess I thought I should be the one to do it, since I was his control officer and had been helping him to do these things for so long. But, to have enjoyed it—it's sick. It's unpardonable. You see now what kind of person I am. No conscience; no sense of right or wrong. I just—want to kill people." Tony moved a little bit closer to her, knowing that this had to be handled smoothly and feeling ill-equipped to do it. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder; she flinched but didn't pull away.

"Ziva," he said. "If you had no conscience, you wouldn't care about this. You wouldn't even know. You wouldn't feel guilty because you wouldn't know it was wrong. Sociopaths don't know that what they do is the wrong thing to do. They would kill just to kill. You had a reason for what you did, right?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Ari had betrayed us and he would have tried to destroy what I have spent my life protecting. I could not let that happen."

"And I have never seen you kill without a reason. You might have impulses, but you control them—well, ok, mostly. Which is fine; 'mostly' is fine. And the fact that you feel like that doesn't make you any worse in my eyes. You think I don't like shooting the bad guys sometimes?"

"Sometimes," Ziva said. "I like killing _anytime_."

"So do most of the snipers that I've known. Listen, some people are just wired that way. And I'd rather have someone who does feel that way to be doing what you're doing than to be firing on innocent civilians from the top of a water tower just because you want to feel the rush. It _is_ a rush; anyone will tell you that. Feeling it doesn't make you a bad person. Just means you're normal. And the fact that you see it and that you're _afraid _of it—that's a good thing. Stop beating yourself up. You're ok." He moved his arm slowly around her shoulders and got even closer to her. "Now I know all about you. And I still want to be with you. Do you want me?" Ziva looked at him and appeared to be struggling for a minute between falling into his arms and running away again. Then Tony let out an internal sigh of relief when she chose the former. To his surprise, she didn't cry again. She just clung to him with her face buried in his neck. They sat like that for awhile, her in his arms, him holding her and stroking her hair. Her shoulders, which had been tense at first, relaxed. She was so still that he thought she had fallen asleep when she slowly lifted her head to look at him.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Have you been obstructed by aliens or something?"

"Very good, Ziva," he said to her, ignoring her word mistake. "You just made a pop culture reference. But no, I just never realized before how great you are. And how lucky I am to know you. I was an idiot. It scared the hell out of me, you know, when you almost died."

"If I had died, someone would have replaced me, just as I replaced Agent Todd," Ziva said.

"No, that's not how it works. You didn't _replace_ Kate and no one could replace you because people aren't just their jobs. I mean, if Abby had died yesterday, wouldn't you have missed who she was, not just missed having a forensic scientist in the lab?"

"Of course," Ziva said. "You could never find anyone else like Abby."

"We couldn't find anyone else like you either," Tony said. Ziva smiled at him and he leaned in for the kiss. Not a terribly passionate one; he remembered Abby's rules and even if he hadn't, Ziva was obviously too exhausted. Not that he didn't want her. But now was not the time. So he kept the kiss very gentle and tried not to think of things he might want it to lead to. But she seemed to like it; she smiled again when their lips parted. Then she looked down at the floor.

"Other people really enjoy killing as I do?" she asked him.

"There is not a single person at NCIS who doesn't," Tony said. "Some of these heartless bastards I never felt an hint of guilt for killing. I figure that they deserve it."

"But does that justify it? I mean, even Mariluz believed that what she was doing was right."

"We kill people who put bombs on ships to kill sailors. She killed her brother for not being an insane fanatic like she was. She was wrong. You were right. And you know it." Ziva laid her head back down on his shoulder.

"Thank you for reassuring me," she said, drowsily. "I am sorry I am not more awake; I have been having trouble sleeping for some time."

"I could tell," he said. "Why don't you try to sleep now?"

"Would you—would you stay? It's silly, I guess, but I very much like sleeping next to you. I'm sorry; I hope you understand, but I am too tired for anything more right now."

"It's ok," he said. "I wouldn't ask you even if you were more awake. I told you that I want a real relationship and so I don't want to go back to something that's just based on sex." This statement caused Ziva to sit up and press her hand to his forehead.

"Are you ill?" she asked. "Or did you hit your head today? I'm concerned; you could have a hematoma or something."

"Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ have emotional depth and am capable of having a relationship with a woman that, for one night anyway, doesn't involve sex." He paused. "Also Abby told me not to. She gave me some advice, so you have her to thank for this. I mean, my feelings are real. I just didn't know how to show you."

"Remind me to thank her," she said, then yawned and stretched. Tony walked her into the bedroom and she got into bed; she was so tired that she was asleep before Tony even had the chance to get his shoes off. Tony got in bed beside her and put one arm around her; she stirred a little and moved closer to him. Tony went to sleep feeling a sense of great achievement. He set no alarm for the next morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Resolution

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Pairings: Tiva, Gabby

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a collaboration with my daughter Erin, who is a Tiva fan. She is also (in my unbiased opinion, lol) a great writer. This story is set several months after my fic "I'm Not Sorry" and the Gabby parts continue that storyline.

A/N2: This story is now complete; we have achieved resolution.

Gibbs waited in the parking lot outside Georgetown Hospital, wondering what all this was about. McGee had called and demanded that he meet him somewhere outside the hospital. He had sounded a little drunk. If so, he didn't want him coming up and disturbing Abby, so he had agreed. A taxi drove up and stopped with Gibbs in the beams of its headlights. McGee got out and the taxi drove off. He walked up to Gibbs and for a minute stood in front of him without a word. The silence was tense, so Gibbs decided to break it.

"Don't tell me you've got me standing out here in the cold just because you missed me, McGee."

McGee lunged forward, grabbed him by his coat collar and shoved him up against the building behind him.

"You son of a bitch!" he shouted, and punched him in the face. Gibbs was too shocked to think, so instinct took over. He grabbed McGee back and tried to push him away. McGee came right back and hit him again, this time right in the nose. Gibbs' eyes filled with water and he could feel blood running down his throat. For a computer geek, McGee had a hell of a right hook. He had a feeling that he knew what this was all about. He managed to get hold of McGee's fist before it collided with his face again and twisted it around behind his back, then pushed McGee against the wall.

"Calm down, Tim," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Shut the hell up, you selfish bastard!" McGee yelled at him. "I can't believe I ever trusted you! You should be locked up!" Gibbs coughed, having trouble breathing through his bloody nose, and McGee got out of the lock and held him against the wall again. This time he didn't try to attack.

"How could you do that to Abby?" he asked. "How could you _rape_ someone that you say that you love?"

"It was a complicated situation, Tim," Gibbs said, trying to stay calm. "How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Doesn't matter. I know I can't beat you in a fight and I'm not going to try. But I will _not_ let you do this to Abby!"

"I gave her the choice; if she wanted, I could have been out of a job and in prison."

"The choice? You took that away from her when you used her to get what you wanted! What happened, none of your wives or girlfriends were available for a drunken booty call so you took her instead?"

"It was not like that!" Gibbs yelled back. He wiped his nose and spit blood. "Yeah, I was drunk. So was she. Yes; I wanted her and when she said no, I forced her. Do you know how much I regret that? What I would give to get that night back and do the right thing? I _know_ what a bastard I am. I don't deserve Abby or Jackson. But she chose me. So this time I'm respecting her choice."

"You expect me to believe you? You're not the person I thought you were, Gibbs. You could have been raping her every night since she moved in and she'd never say a word about it because what you did screwed her head up so bad that she doesn't know the difference anymore. For all I know, the real reason Jackson was born early because you beat the hell out of her every time she said no!" Gibbs still had just enough guilt about Jackson's difficult birth that he couldn't control himself; he hit him for that. Not hard, barely enough to bruise, but it took McGee off guard enough to make him move back.

"Look," Gibbs said. "I have been dealing with this every minute of every day of the past five months. And, believe me, you aren't the first person to punch me in the face for this."

"Good," McGee said. "Maybe one of them kicked your ass like you deserve."

"Damn it, McGee!" Gibbs shouted. "Did you come here just to throw punches or are you going to listen to me?"

"There's nothing you could say, Gibbs. For years, I've been in love with Abby and if anyone else did something like to her, I wouldn't listen to any explanations. The fact that it's you only makes it worse. She wouldn't be trying to start a family with any other rapist. Don't you realize what you've done? She cared about you and you betrayed that, so she has to make herself think that you two have a real relationship to be able to deal with it."

"I would do anything for her. Everything I've done has been for her."

"Then why didn't you just disappear or go back to Mexico or something? It would have made it easier for her to deal with! You've done worse than the usual rapist; not only did you take advantage of her physically, you actually started this twisted relationship and took advantage of her emotionally. Why can't you realize how screwed up this is?"

"It was not my idea, McGee," he said. "I almost did go to Mexico. I_ wanted _to disappear. I had to do this—for my son and for Abby."

"I won't let you keep doing this to her," McGee said, the threatening tone coming back into his voice. "I'll find some way to stop it."

"You do," Gibbs yelled, pointing a finger in his face. "And you're just as guilty as me! You want to talk about taking away choices? _I'm _her choice; Jackson is her choice! It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong. _She—chose—me_. Now tell me honestly, McGee, are you really on her side, or are _you_ going to be the one to try to take advantage of this situation for yourself?"

"I could never do that to Abby!"

"Then don't make this choice for her. I made that mistake and I will regret it for the rest of my life! I have no say anymore. I only care what Abby wants. And all I can say is that I'm incredibly lucky because she decided that she wanted me. I'm done hating myself so much that it gets in the way of her happiness. And neither of us have the right to tell her that what will make her happy. I know how much you care about Abby. You deserve to be with her more than I do. But I'm not in charge. I love her too much. Now," he said, his tone changing a little bit. "I'm going to go back up to my family. You are going to go inside, call a cab, go home and put some ice on your jaw." McGee, who had only stared at him during this speech, nodded slowly.

"What you did was still terrible," he said. "And you're still a bastard."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "I know."

"Well, try not to remind Abby too much, ok?"

"I'll do my best." He gestured to the door behind him. "Go on, McGee."

McGee did call a cab, go home and ice his face. And tried not to think about what he had just done and how badly Gibbs was going to metaphorically kick his ass on Monday. Gibbs cleaned himself up before he went back to Abby. She had woken up in his absence.

"There you are," she said, when he came in. He left the lights off so she couldn't see his face. He went over, sat down and kissed her.

"Thank you, Abs," he said.

"For what?"

"Everything. You've given me everything I don't deserve." She smiled at him.

"I can't help it," she said. "I love you." He kissed her again. Then he sat back and smiled to himself. He hadn't thought that McGee had the balls.

Ziva woke up to Tony's kisses on her cheek and his hand running down her back. She smiled sleepily and then rolled over and kissed his lips. When she touched his face, it felt cold; he had been outside.

"Up so early?" she asked him. "Where have you been?" Tony chuckled.

"Early?" he repeated. "I didn't wake up till 0930. It's almost 1100 now."

Ziva looked at him in surprise and turned to look at her clock; it read 1056.

"I do not think I have slept this late since I was an infant," she said.

"Well, you were pretty worn out. Don't worry. You deserve a break." He smiled at her again, that smile that she could feel warming her very soul. "Better this morning?"

"So much, Tony. I do not know how to thank you."

"Stay with me. I don't want to lose you again."

"You never lost me, Tony," she told him. "I've wanted to be with you for some time, but you didn't want me at first, and then it was just a physical relationship…"

"And now we're on the same page, finally," Tony said. "And I want this to last. In fact…I went by headquarters this morning; I'm putting in for a transfer."

"What? But Tony, you love your job; I couldn't ask you to do that."

"I know you wouldn't. But you know Gibbs won't let us keep working together—rule number 12 and all that. And yeah, I love my job, but I'll love this other job too. Maybe it was time for a change anyway. And—" He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "whatever happens, it'll be worth it." Ziva felt a mixture of shock that she was hearing this from Tony and a surge of emotion for him; he was being so wonderful to her. Honestly, as much as she had wished for one, she hadn't thought that he was capable of any kind of committed relationship. Obviously, she had been wrong.

"You ok with going to the hospital to see Gibbs and Abby again today?" he asked. "I know it's Sunday, but I figure I should tell Gibbs myself that I'm transferring."

"He would be less likely to slap you on the head if you tell him yourself, I suspect," Ziva said. "Give me a minute to get dressed." She turned her back to him and started to take off the shirt that she had ended up sleeping in. Tony had called Gibbs to tell him that they were coming, but she heard him start to pause after every other word and she smiled. She wouldn't make him wait too much longer. But it was nice to think that he was holding back on purpose, waiting to make sure that she had what she needed before he got what he wanted. He really had changed. Maybe this would work.

Georgetown Hospital seemed like a much nicer place now that they were entering it hand in hand, at a decent hour of the day and not in the middle of a crisis. Gibbs and Abby were in the NICU with Jackson so they put on their gowns and joined them. Abby noticed their clasped hands and grinned and winked at Tony, who winked back. Ziva was looking at Gibbs; though he had been able to clean off the blood, there were still bruises on his face.

"What happened, boss?" Tony asked. "Did you walk into the wrong room and get slugged during a contraction?"

"Sure," Gibbs said, knowing that they would probably figure it out when they got to work the next day and saw McGee. Not that he would ever admit to it. Tony and Ziva glanced at each other. Though both dying of curiosity, they knew better than to keep asking if Gibbs obviously wanted to be evasive.

"Well, boss, I guess I should go ahead and tell you; I went to headquarters and sent in a request to the Director's office for a transfer." Gibbs gave him a look.

"You sure about this, DiNozzo?" he asked him.

"Yeah, boss, I am. Sometimes things just need to change, you know?"

"From the looks of things they already have." He gave them the half-smile of approval. "I guess I could let you go teach those other teams a thing or two."

"Does this mean I get to be Senior Field Agent?" Ziva asked.

"Sorry, Ziva; have to give that one to McGee. Since he's technically been on the team longer."

"McGeek? Senior Field Agent?" Tony made a face.

"He's more capable than you might think." He saw Abby looking at him and looked back at her. She raised her eyebrows, the wheels turning in her head. He only shrugged and smiled.

"Oh, I see," Ziva said. "McGee could really use the vote of confidence from you. It will help him grow as an agent."

"Exactly. No hard feelings about it?"

"No. I don't think I could be unhappy about anything right now." She gazed at Tony. Tony gazed back at her and they were stuck like that for a few seconds. Abby giggled.

"How's the little guy, boss?" Tony asked.

"Doing fine." He reached into the warmer to touch the little hand. Jackson made a noise and moved his hand just a little.

"Aw, he knows his daddy," Abby said, wrapping her arms around Gibbs. Gibbs smiled and held onto his son's tiny hand.

The End


End file.
